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N O K V A 


A 

TALE OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE, 


AND OTHER STORIES. 


BY 

EMILE SOU VESTRE, 

AUTHOR OF “ THE ATTIC PHILOSOPHER IN PARIS,” “ LEAVES 
FROM A FAMLIY JOURNAL,” ETC., ETC. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. 


% ^ 




ILLUSTRATED. 


BOSTON: 



111 Washington Street. 


1 85 7 . 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by 
Crosby, Nichols, and Company, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Mass. 


PREFACE. 

TO M. EUGENE GUIEYSSE. 

Do you remember, my dear friend, how 
often we have admired, in our own Brittany, 
those Druidical columns, upon which Chris- 
tianity has ingrafted the cross of the Sav- 
iour, — those Celto-Roman remains, incrust- 
ed with ruins of the Middle Ages, — those 
graceful relics of the Renaissance, which mod- 
ern utilitarianism has taken possession of, 
and transformed into dwellings or schools ? 
While surveying these ruins of ages, lost 
sentinels of the past, which the scythe of 
Time seems to have forgotten, how often 
have our thoughts been carried back to those 


iv 


PREFACE. 


extinct organizations of society which they 
recalled to our memory! The progress of 
generations seemed to us impressed upon the 
very soil by these ancient characters. They 
related, in their own way, the story of suc- 
cessive periods of civilization, and with these 
pages torn from the book of the past we 
could almost reconstruct the entire volume. 

These recollections have often since re- 
curred to me, and to them I doubtless owe the 
idea of the rapid sketches which form this 
volume. I desire by them to show through 
what trials humanity has attained to that 
condition of social progress which it is the 
fashion now to deny, or to pretend to deplore. 
If I have chosen children for the heroes of 
my stories, it is because in them the vices or 
the virtues of a period are most clearly seen. 
The strong always modify somewhat the me- 
dium in which they are called to live; the 
weak submit to its influence. The Slave, 
the Serf, and the Apprentice are the types 


PREFACE. 


V 


of three states of society which have imme- 
diately succeeded each other. I have thought 
that to show the advantage of each one of 
these states over the preceding may be useful 
to those who have not yet determined to be 
as those that ‘‘ have eyes that they may 
not see.” In considering what the Past has 
been, we are more indulgent towards the 
Present, and look forward with more confi- 
dence to the Future. 

I send you this volume from the shore of 
our little Lake, enclosed in a frame of villas, 
with their antique colonnades, and their tur- 
rets, surmounted by peaceful battlements, — 
of feudal mansions in imitation of stone, — 
and of cottages of the country people. I see 
little boats dart forth from its ten flowery bays, 
laden with children of aU ranks, who chase 
each other in mimic games. The blouse el- 
bows the velvet jacket, voices and laughter are 
intermingled ; the sunburnt hand clasps the 
w’hite, and equality reigns everywhere. While 


vi 


PREFACE. 


I, looking at all this, endeavor to imagine to 
myself how many struggles, how much suf- 
fering and anxious waiting, have been needed 
to render possible such a landscape and such 
sports. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE SLAVE 1 

THE SERF 75 

THE APPRENTICE 179 



THE SLAVE. 


1 






THE SLAVE. 


CHAPTER I. 

All the streets which led from Mount 
Janiculum to the Forum were crowded with 
that throng of idlers which the great centres 
of civilization create. On this day Roman 
indolence had been aroused by the anticipa- 
tion of amusement; the arrival of a large 
number of prisoners was expected. 

The masters of the world had found a new 
nation to conquer; a portion of the earth 
which was wholly covered with immense for- 
ests and protected by unknown divinities had 
been, at last, subdued. The Romans were 
about to see this people of Armorica, so won- 
derful for its strength, so strange in its man- 
ners and in its forms of worship; and they 


4 


THE SLAVE. 


were to behold it, crushed beneath the weight 
of Koman rule. 

Thus, upon this day, all the instincts of 
that great people were excited. The curiosity 
of all had been awakened. They had found, 
in the same moment, a triumph for their 
pride, and a spectacle for their amusement. 
Yet now and then, from among that great 
crowd, which one feeling had drawn together, 
were heard words of regret ; they came from 
the poorest of the people, who, in the midst 
of the public rejoicing, lamented that they 
had not a few thousand sesterces to buy an 
Armorican. 

Towards the fourth hour (ten o’clock in 
the morning) all pedestrians began to range 
themselves in two rows, on the side of the 
way ; the band of prisoners was beginning to 
pass under the Aurelian Gate, and to traverse 
the streets of the city. 

More than six thousand Celts, each bearing 
on his brow a crown of leaves, and an inde- 
scribable expression of grief, the double mark 
of their lost liberty, defiled before the sover- 
eign nation. Traces of sorrow of every kind 


THE SLAVE. 


5 


could be seen in their looks and attitudes. 
They walked on, with hearts broken by vain 
despair, and the sufferings of the body added 
to those of the soul. The fatigue of the jour- 
ney, and especially the influence of a new 
sky, had exhausted them. Accustomed to the 
fresh breezes of the ocean, to the mild sun of 
Armorica, to the silence of her forests, they 
could not endure the scorching sun of Italy. 
But if, weakened by the struggle against the 
new climate, they slackened their pace, the 
whip of the slave-driver quickly warned them 
that they had no longer a right even to re- 
pose. 

It may be that the sight of so much misery 
secretly moved to compassion these Homans, 
so eager for amusement and for conquest; 
but no sign of pity was seen in that vast 
crowd ; no eye was cast down, no compas- 
sionate exclamation was heard. 

When a whole people is bent beneath the 
weight of a calamity, which strikes with one 
blow at all its sources of happiness, the indi- 
viduality of each seems to be lost amid the 
general sorrow, and all faces wear the same 
1 * 


6 


THE SLAVE. 


aspect. Yet, among the thousand victims 
who were traversing Rome, there was one 
whose face showed more distress and more 
suffering than the rest, but, at the same time, 
bore the impress of determination and cour- 
age. It was that of a woman, about thirty- 
five years old, whose eyes never left the child 
which walked by her side. All the anguish 
that a mother’s heart can feel was expressed 
in her look ; but, besides the grief which was 
seen equally in the eye of every mother, in 
hers there seemed a certain holy energy. 

The history of this poor woman was nearly 
the same as that of all her companions. She 
had seen her husband and eldest son die by 
her side ; afterwards, she, with her youngest 
child, had been made prisoner. But the sad 
losses she had met with had not in any degree 
diminished the strength of her maternal anxi- 
ety ; she forgot her own sorrows to think only 
of her child. Doubtless she had loved more 
and better than the others, for it is only the 
noblest hearts which continue thus devoted 
and strong in the hour of agony. 

This woman was* called Norva. Her son. 


THE SLAVE. 


7 


Arvins, a boy of twelve years, walked silently 
at her side. His firm, steady pace, his mute 
resignation, his calm expression, clearly spoke 
his origin. With his hands thrust into his 
girdle, his head erect, his eye sad but tearless, 
he followed, without uttering a single com- 
plaint, those who walked before him. Yet, 
together with the strength of youth, there was 
enough in him of the delicacy of childhood to 
give excuse for tears. It was evident, how- 
ever, that he drew courage from the sight of 
his mother; for whenever their eyes met, he 
carried his head more erect, and planted his 
foot more firmly on the ground. 

Nevertheless he suffered severely, for he 
was thinking of the past, and his companions 
had told him what might be expected from 
the future. But he knew that for his mother 
the past was full of bitter recollections ; and 
he imagined that the future would weigh still 
more heavily upon her, even now weak and 
prematurely old, and he therefore carefully 
concealed his own troubles. 

The sight of Rome and its monuments 
could not divert Norva from her grief. The 


8 


THE SLAVE. 


rich palaces, the superb temples, of the great 
city passed before her eyes like shadows ; but 
Arvins, whose youth protected him from that 
ceaseless despair which compels the soul al- 
ways to tread the same gloomy round, was 
struck by the wonders which unfolded them- 
selves before him. His face was still grave ; 
but, by degrees, the expression of sadness, 
which showed itself through his gravity, gave 
place to astonishment. 

The multitude of statues of marble and 
bronze ; the temples surrounded with col- 
umns, on which the sunlight produced so 
many magical effects ; the rows of palaces, 
with thehr splendid porches, powerfully ex- 
cited the imagination of the boy. In the 
midst of these magnificent displays of art, he 
was never weary of gazing at the crowds of 
men, robed in purple, or borne upon gilded 
chariots which passed with the rapidity of 
lightning. 

But when he reached the Forum, his won- 
der became amazement. The most beautiful 
edifices which Rome contained were situated 
within the circle crowned by the Capitol. 


THE SLAVE. 


9 


The eyes of Arvins turned from one temple 
to another, from basilicas to gilded statues, 
and everywhere met the same magnificence, 
the same splendor. The young Armorican 
asked himself if all this which he saw around 
him was indeed the work of man. 

Having reached the centre of the square, 
the procession halted ; there the separation of 
the prisoners was to take place ; there each 
one was to follow the slave-dealer who had 
bought him of the republic, until he, in his 
turn, should sell him to the master, who 
would, so to speak, baptize him slave. 

Arvins was painfully recalled to a sense of 
his situation and that of his mother, when he 
heard that they had attained the end of their 
journey. The species of enchantment to 
which he had, for some time, yielded, quickly 
disappeared, to give place to anxiety. What 
was to become of them both ? Should they 
have the same master ? Or, indeed, was sep- 
aration to be added to so many other misfor- 
tunes ? 

Overpowered by the heat, the Armoricans, 
lately so strong in their own bracing atmos- 


10 


THE SLAVE. 


phere, stretched themselves upon the stone 
slabs which formed the pavement of the Fo- 
rum, eagerly seeking the shade of every 
building, and every statue, and even of the 
slenderest columns. For once fortune was 
kind to Norva and her son ; it placed them 
under the shade of the immense fig-tree of 
the Curtian Lake. 

The harsh voice of the slave-dealers soon 
disturbed this short repose. A sign was given 
to the captives to get up, a division of them 
was soon made, and each dealer led away 
with him his share of prisoners. 

Arvins and his mother, having been bought 
of the republic by the same dealer, were led 
with thirty of their companions into a booth 
near the temple of Castor. 

The final sale was not to take place till 
several days afterwards, when the captives 
should have rested; for the Romans wished 
only for slaves who were healthy, handsome, 
and vigorous. This health, which they paid 
for, as an object of luxury, doubtless soon 
gave way under the hardships and fatigues of 
slavery; but while it lasted, it was at least a 


THE SLAVE. 


11 


decoration for their palaces, in which the van- 
ity of the richest might take delight. 

Now that the national pride of the Eomans 
had been gratified by beholding the abase- 
ment of a conquered people, it was time to 
think of satisfying their other wants. The 
merchandise which was to be offered to the 
purchaser must be improved and adorned ; 
the cattle must be fattened ; this formed the 
noble science of the slave-merchant. 

As soon as the Armoricans, among whom 
were Norva and her son, had entered the booth 
of which we have spoken, they found them- 
selves the objects of careful attention. An 
abundant repast had been prepared for them, 
and they were put under the charge of old 
slaves, who were ordered to attend to their 
wants. 


12 


THE SLAVE. 


CHAPTER II. 

When the day of sale arrived, the Celts 
were perfumed on leaving the bath ; their 
long hair was carefully combed, and adorned 
with ornaments, pains being taken, however, 
always to preserve the foreign air which 
showed their origin. Finally, at the fourth 
hour, after having placed upon the brows of 
the captives the same wreaths of leaves which 
they had worn at their entrance into Rome, 
and having suspended around their necks 
scrolls upon which were specified the qualities 
of each, the slave-dealers compelled them to 
ascend platforms, built in front of the booth. 
A dozen old captives were added to their 
number, whom the owner hoped to dispose of, 
by means of the wealth which the sale of the 
Armoricans would attract to the spot. Ac- 
cording to the law, which compelled the 
slave-dealers to declare the origin of their 
slaves by external marks, the latter did not 


THE SLAVE. 


13 


wear the crown of leaves which distinguished 
the prisoners of war; but their feet, rubbed 
with chalk, announced the fact that they were 
from beyond the sea. Some of them had 
their heads covered with a cap of white wool- 
len cloth, to show that the dealer did not an- 
swer for their qualifications, and would not 
take upon himself any legal responsibility in 
regard to them. 

For the second time, the Roman Forum 
displayed its splendors before these natives 
of Armorica; yet if the poor captives had 
recovered, in repose, a little of their former 
strength, their hearts were not the less sad, 
nor more accessible to amusement. All that 
splendor of marble, of bronze, and of monu- 
ments was hardly observed by the greater part 
of them. One thing only struck them; this 
was the almost deserted appearance of the 
square, through which they had seen, some 
days before, the tide of population ebb and 
flow. It was the time when the magistrates 
were administering justice, the merchants 
attending to the affairs of commerce in the 
basilicas ; when the buyers were occupied in 
2 


14 


THE SLAVE. 


the booths. As to the idlers, they were to be 
found, as usual, wherever there was anything 
stirring; seriously occupied with watching 
the labor of others, and giving their opinions 
upon it, without taking any part in it them- 
selves. 

In a few hours, the appearance of the 
Forum would be completely altered ; the 
Roman populace would inundate the square ; 
but till then the captives were masters of 
their movements and their thoughts. 

They employed these moments of expecta- 
tion in uttering their last farewells. They 
could once more grasp each other by the 
hand ; they could intermingle their tears, 
speak of those who were dead, and repeat the 
name of their country in that soft Celtic 
tongue which they must so soon exchange for 
the language of their masters. 

The strongest tried to afford some consola- 
tion to the weak, by speaking to them of ven- 
geance. They reminded them that all was 
not lost for Armorica, since the gods who 
protected their country would still watch over 
her exiled children ; but among the voices 


THE SLAVE. 


15 


which were raised to encourage this noble 
pride, that of the old Morgan could be heard 
over all. 

“ Let us not show the wounds in our hearts 
to our enemies,” said he, in a calm, clear 
voice. “ After having shed our blood before 
them, let us not give them the triumph of see- 
ing our tears. Whatever misery these people 
may have in store for us, no torments can be 
so cruel as those we endured when torn, by 
force, from our native soil. Let us, then, take 
courage from the thought that we have passed 
through our severest trial. Let the women 
even allow no cry to escape them, if new sor- 
rows touch them through their children, and 
let the heart of the Armorican woman be 
great enough to suppress all the tears of the 
mother.” 

The eye of Morgan rested upon those who 
surrounded him, with an expression of sub- 
lime command ; but when he met the eyes of 
Norva, which were fixed with anxiety upon 
her son, a shade of pity crossed his face, 
and his voice changed suddenly to a softer 
tone. 


16 


THE SLAVE. 


“ Norva,” said he, “ thou art a chieftain^s 
wife ; remember that my brother watches thee 
from the palace of clouds, in which he now 
dwells ; do not make him blush, before the 
eyes of the heroes.” 

“ I will try,” answered the mother. 

“ And thou, niy child,” added the old man, 
turning towards Arvins, — “ thou who wilt be, 
perhaps, in a few hours, but an unhappy 
branch detached from its parent stem, remem- 
ber that Armorica is thy country, and that 
before the day when the Romans trod thy na- 
tive soil, the Celts, whom they have loaded 
with chains, lived free and happy, under the 
shade of their great forests. All hatred, then, 
to our conquerors ! And when our Gods, the 
only true and powerful divinities, shall bring 
the hour of our country’s deliverance, show 
this nation that we also are worthy to be mas- 
ters ; for we shall know how to make them 
suffer. If ever, at the sight of an enemy, thou 
feelest an emption of pity, listen to the voice 
of memory, and she will tell thee that the Ar- 
moricans have transmitted to their children 
vengeance as their sole inheritance.” 


THE SLAVE. 


17 


The light which flashed from the eyes of 
Arvins gave a promise stronger than any words 
could have done. Morgan, the noble and cour- 
ageous old man, but priest of a religion which 
knew no mercy, seemed to rejoice in the feel- 
ings which he had just aroused. He placed 
his hand on the child’s head, in token of 
benediction, and, turning towards the mother, 
he added, “ Fear nothing for thy son, Norva ; 
he has already so brave a heart that the 
ills of life may touch without degrading 
him.” 

The clepsydra of the temple of Castor 
marked the fifth hour. This was the hour 
when the square of the Forum was to be filled 
with the crowd ; and the slave-dealer imposed 
silence on the slaves. 

Norva pressed close to Morgan, and tried to 
draw her boy still nearer to her side ; for she 
felt strengthened by this double protection of 
pity and love. Arvins clasped his mother’s 
hand to his heart, and cast upon her a look 
in which was mingled the gentle submission 
of the child and the proud resolution of the 


man. 


1 


18 


THE SLAVE. 


The eager crowd hastened to surround the 
booths of the slave-dealers, which were situ- 
ated in different parts of the Forum. Each 
dealer, with a switch in his hand, walked 
about his platform, and endeavored to attract 
the attention of the crowd by outvying his 
neighbors in extravagant falsehoods. 

“ Come to me, O illustrious citizens ! ” 
cried the owner of Norva and her son ; “ none 
of my companions can offer you slaves en- 
dowed with such qualities as these of mine. 
You know that I have been long distin- 
guished in trade, for the superiority of my 
merchandise. Look now,” continued he, 
pointing out an Armorican of about thirty, 
remarkable for the elegance of his form and 
the energy displayed in his bearing ; “ where 
will you find a man so handsome and so 
powerful? Is he not worthy to stand for a 
Hercules?* And, moreover, noble Romans, 
you may believe me, for nothing would com- 
pel me to lie ; this slave is a thousand times 
more valuable for his honesty, his intelligence, 
his sobriety, and his docility, than for his 
beauty, which so surprises you. Who would 


THE SLAVE. 


19 


not be willing to make a slight sacrifice to 
procure so rare a treasure ? ’’ 

The more the crowd increased around the 
booth of the slave-dealer, the louder grew his 
insolent boasting. It seemed as if the insig- 
nificant face of this seller of men, the living 
personification of all the shameful and brutal 
passionsj was placed there as a contrast to 
those beautiful Celtic heads, which showed, 
for the most part, only proud instincts and 
noble sentiments. 

Already many bargains had been concluded ; 
many decrees of separation of beloved friends 
had been pronounced. More than one old man 
had seen the son, on whom he had depended, 
depart ; more than one child had seen its 
mother led away as a slave. Yet all religious- 
ly kept the promise they had made, not to 
display their grief before their enemies. They 
stifled their sighs and repressed their tears as 
each new companion was lost in the distance, 
and if any mother’s courage failed her at the 
departure of her child, the others placed them- 
selves before her, that her groans might not 
reach their master’s ears. 


20 


THE SLAVE. 


Every scene of this painful but silent dra- 
ma thrilled the soul of Norva. At every blow 
which fell upon one of her brothers, she felt 
that a new faculty of suffering had been de- 
veloped in the depths of her heart ; but when 
her strength would have deserted her, she 
raised her eyes to Morgan, and the sight of 
his unmoved countenance restored her cour- 
age. 

At one time, the heart of the poor woman 
was filled with joy ; — a mother and her child 
had been purchased by the same master. But 
with her recollection, her grief quickly re- 
turned ; there were around her so many chil- 
dren without mothers, and mothers without 
children ! 

There now remained only ten Armoricans, 
among whom was still left the group consist- 
ing of Norva and her son and Morgan, when 
the eyes of a freedman became fixed with 
marked attention upon Arvins. 

The slave-dealer, always alive to whatever 
concerned his merchandise, advanced quickly 
to the side of the boy, and, resting the end of 
his switch upon his shoulder, said : “ Would 


THE SLAVE. 


21 


you not say, to look at this youth, so tall and 
so strong, that he is at least in his fifteenth 
year ? Well, I assure you he is only nine. 
You can judge what he will one day become. 
This Armorican race is truly marvellous.’’ 

Norva could not restrain a shudder when 
she saw the slave-dealer’s whip resting on her 
son’s shoulder. But Arvins gave no signs of 
emotion during the long examination of the 
purchaser. 

Finally, after convincing himself that the 
child suited him, the Roman offered three 
hundred sesterces for him. Several voices 
raised the price to four hundred, when the 
bids ceased. 

As the highest bidder, the Roman advanced 
towards the platform, near to a man having 
before him a small table, upon which were 
brazen scales, and, taking an as in his hand, he 
said : “ I declare that this young boy is mine, 
according to the rights of the Quirites, and 
that I have bought him with this money and 
by these scales.” 

He then let the piece fall into one of the 
scales. 


22 


THE SLAVE. 


This sound was like a death-blow to Norva, 
for it had preceded the departure of each one 
of her companions. The boy was, for a mo- 
ment, moved at the sight of his mother’s pale- 
ness ; but a glance from Morgan sufficed to 
restore calmness to his demeanor. The old 
man bent towards Norva, and murmured 
some words in her ear, at which the poor 
mother quickly recovered her self-possession. 

This scene passed, doubtless, too rapidly to 
be noticed by a stranger. Morgan, at least, 
seemed to think so, for he cast upon the 
crowd of Romans his old look of disdain. 

The slave-dealer came to take Arvins, in 
order to place him with the old slaves of the 
freedman, who were awaiting their new 
companion at the bottom of the platform! 
A brutal gesture separated the mother and 
child, and the unhappy woman had not even 
time to place her lips upon the brow of her 
son. 

“Farewell, my mother!” cried Arvins; 
“we shall soon see each other again; I have 
hope, for I trust to my strength and my pa- 
tience. Farewell, Morgan ! ” 


THE SLAVE. 


23 


“ Farewell/^ cried the latter, .stretching out 
his hand towards him. His arm remained 
extended, for a long time, to hide from the 
curious crowd the pale face of Norva ! 


24 


THE SLAVE. 


CHAPTER III. 

The freedman who had bought Arvins was 
the steward of one of the richest patricians 
of Rome. 

Claudius Corvinus had inherited, but a few 
years before, two hundred million sesterces,* 
the greater part of which he had already 
squandered. His palace was noted as one of 
the most superb on the Coelian Hill. Its 
floors were of Carystean marble, the pillars of 
bronze, the statues of ivory, and the baths of 
porphyry. There were banqueting-halls, or 
triclinia^ for every season of the year, contain- 
ing couches of citron-wood inlaid with silver, 
with cushions of swan’s-down and coverings 
of silk from Babylon. The halls were hung 
with rich stuffs, and veils of purple, embroid- 
ered in gold, were suspended above the festal 
tables. 


* About eight million dollars. 


THE SLAVE. 


25 


When the freedman, with the boy, reached 
this splendid mansion, he knocked at the 
bronze gate. The porter left his box, where 
he was chained with a Molossian, and quick- 
ly opened the gate. The conductor of Arvins 
then asked for the Carthaginian. This was 
the interpreter, whose business it was to con- 
verse with the three hundred slaves of Cor- 
vinus. Having been engaged in commerce 
before his captivity, he had crossed every sea 
in the ships of his people, and spoke the lan- 
guages of nearly all the maritime nations. 

The freedman delivered the young Celt to 
him, that he might be clothed in a proper cos- 
tume and receive the necessary instructions. 
The Carthaginian led the boy to the quarter 
occupied by the slaves. 

“ Have you been instructed yet in your 
new duties ? ” asked he. 

“ I have received lessons only from free- 
men,” proudly answered Arvins. 

The interpreter smiled. 

“ You are indeed a son of the Gauls, who 
fear nothing but that the heavens should 
fall,” replied he, ironically. “Yet I warrant 
3 


26 


THE SLAVE. 


that here you will fear more the stroke of the 
lash. You must know, in the first place, that, 
as a slave, you are no longer a person, but a 
thing. Your master can do what he pleases 
with you ; he can put you in chains, without 
a reason ; whip you, merely for his amuse- 
ment ; or even have you devoured by the fish 
in his fish-pond, as Vedius Pollio did.” 

“ Let him do his worst,” said Arvins. 

“ Corvinus is not cruel,” continued the Car- 
thaginian. “ He is one of the gallants of 
Rome, and his principal occupation is to 
ruin himself. He usually rises about the 
tenth hour (4 o’clock, P. M.), and places him- 
self in the hands of his domestic slaves, who 
perfume him, paint his cheeks, and rub his 
chin with psilotrum, to make the beard fall 
off. A hundred and fifty slaves are employed 
here to wait upon him, and each one has his 
different office.” 

“ What will mine be ? ” asked Arvins. 

“ You are to be employed about the chari- 
ots,” replied the interpreter. « Now follow 
me, and I will show you your kingdom.” 

He then led the young Celt to the coach- 


THE SLAVE. 


27 


houses, where they found the chariots, under 
cover. 

“ See first,’^ said the Carthaginian, “ the pe~ 
tonta, equipages with four wheels, imitated 
from those of the Germans, which are used 
for the transportation of provisions or slaves. 
Farther on are the covini, covered cars, in 
which the master goes out when it rains. 
These light vehicles, ornamented with ivory, 
tortoise-shell, and chased silver, which you 
see at the right, are called rhedce; Corvinus 
commonly uses them for driving out. On 
your left are the litters, adorned with Persian 
carpets and purple curtains.’^ 

Arvins was overwhelmed by the sight of so 
much magnificence. The interpreter led him 
to the stables, paved with lava, all the racks 
of which were made of Etrurian marble. 

“ The fifty mules which stand there,” said 
the Carthaginian, “ are intended to draw 
the chariot of Corvinus. As for those sixty 
horses, which you can see on the other side, 
they are for the Numidian slaves, who run 
before the equipage of the master when he 
goes out. Now that you are acquainted with 


28 


THE SLAVE. 


these places, I will take you to the master of 
the stables, to learn your duties.” 

Arvins went, with the interpreter, to the 
slave who had the charge of the equipages. 
He told the Carthaginian what would be re- 
quired of the boy, and his conductor then 
translated these orders to him. When he had 
finished his instructions, he said, — 

“ I have only one more charge to give you, 
which is, always to keep silence before your 
master, when you have learned the Latin lan- 
guage. He is so proud in his bearing towards 
his slaves, that he never addresses a word to 
them. He gives his orders to them, by signs 
or by writing on his tablets. Now you may 
go for your diarium^ or daily ration, and then 
you can begin your work.” 

All that Arvins had just heard and seen 
was so new to him, that his grief was, for a 
time, at least, forgotten, if not relieved. 

But it was far different when he saw Clau- 
dius Corvinus go forth, surrounded by his 
clients, his flute-players, and his attendant 
Salii, dressed in a purple toga, his hair per- 
fumed with cinnamon, his arms polished with 


THE SLAVE. 


29 


pumice-stone and covered with bracelets set 
with precious stones. Arvins had never even 
formed an idea of such riches. Such was, in 
reality, at that time, the manner of living of 
the wealthy patricians of Rome, whose houses 
resembled rather the effeminate courts of the 
most powerful kings of Asia, than private 
dwellings. Nothing was heard in them but 
the voices of singers ; wreaths of roses, from 
Psestum, left there by the guests, were 
strewed about the threshold, and an odor 
of feasting constantly exhaled through the 
open windows. Every morning, a crowd of 
clients filled the vestibule, to receive the spor^ 
tula^ or daily portion of one hundred quad- 
rans* by means of which their patron secured 
their votes at the elections of the magistrates. 
The patron sometimes showed himself to 
these eager courtiers, passing through the 
crowd with an indifferent air, and his head 
bent towards the nomenclator^ a slave who 
repeated in his ear the name of each indi- 
vidual. 


About twenty cents. 

3 * 


30 


THE SLAVE. 


The remainder of the day was devoted to 
a walk under the porticos of the Forum, or 
a turn in the chariot upon the Via Appia. 
Then came the evening repast, to which the 
parasites hastened, and which was often pro- 
longed till daylight. 

The table of Claudius Corvinus was re- 
nowned for its delicacies. He was one of the 
senate of epicures who had proposed public 
prizes for those who should invent new dishes ; 
and his cook, purchased at the enormous price 
of two hundred thousand sesterces,* was the 
one to whom the celebrated Apicius had pre- 
sented a silver crown, as the most useful man 
in the Republic. The triclinium of Corvinus 
also was always filled with guests belonging 
to the noblest families, or holding the highest 
offices of Rome. 

Disgust soon succeeded to the surprise 
which so novel a kind of life had excited in 
Arvins. Educated in the frugal habits of his 
people, and accustomed to despise all which 
adds neither to the strength nor the wisdom 


About eight thousand dollars. 


the slave. 


31 


of man, he turned away his eyes with proud 
disdain from all this aimless profusion, and 
began to think sadly of Armorica. The re- 
membrance of his mother, also, was always 
present to him. This was the only love which 
remained to him, and the strongest interest of 
his life. He hoped to be able to discover, by 
a strict search through Rome, the master who 
had bought her. 

But, in order to accomplish this difficult 
undertaking, it was necessary that he should 
be able to make himself understood. He 
began then to study Latin, with all the 
ardor which a single profound passion alone 
can give. Unfortunately, his tongue, accus- 
tomed to the harsh Celtic accent, refused to 
utter the softer inflexions. His memory re- 
tained only with a sort of unwilling disdain 
the words of this hostile nation ; it seemed as 
if all his patriotic instincts revolted against 
the language of the conqueror. But the de- 
sire of his heart, stronger and more patient, 
finally overcame this repugnance. A few 
months had hardly passed before Arvins could 
understand what was said to him, and reply 
to it, in the Roman tongue. 


32 


THE SLAVE. 


He then began his search, but he soon 
found that, to render it available, he needed 
both time and liberty. His time belonged to 
his master, and he had but a few hours a 
day at his own disposal. Thus several 
months passed away, without his being able 
to learn anything of the fate of Norva. 

Sad and disheartened, the boy was think- 
ing, in his own mind, by what means he 
might make his inquiries more effectual, when 
he witnessed a scene which gave a new direc- 
tion to the course of his thoughts and his 
endeavors. 


THE SLAVE. 


33 


CHAPTER IV. 

One evening, as Arvins was sitting upon 
the threshold of the stable, with his face buried 
i in his hands, and his elbows resting upon his 
! knees, he heard loud shouts of joy. A Ger- 
i man, whose diligence and sobriety Arvins had 
j often noticed, was going forth from the slave- 
! quarter, with his head shaved, and surrounded 
by his companions, who were congratulating 
him. They were on their way to the master’s 
house. 

“ What does this mean ? ” asked Arvins in 
surprise. 

“ It is the German, who is about to be 
freed,” replied the interpreter. 

“ What do you say ? ” cried the young Celt. 
“ Can a slave ever recover his liberty ? ” 

“ When he pays for it.” 

And how can he procure money enough 
for that ? ” 

“ As this barbarian has done, who, for three 


34 


THE SLAVE. 


months, has eaten only one meal out of two, 
in order to sell half of his diarium^ and has 
worked at night and saved even his smallest 
earnings. He has succeeded, by putting by a 
penny at a time, in hoarding up a sum of six 
thousand sesterces, with which he has paid for 
his freedom.” 

While the interpreter was giving this ex- 
planation to the young Celt, the German had 
entered the triclinium, where Gorvinus was 
seated at a table with the prsBtor. The other 
slaves remained upon the threshold. Arvins 
joined them, in order to see what was about 
to take place. 

The German first approached his master, 
who put his hand upon his head and said, “ I 
declare that this man is free, and that he may 
enjoy the rights of a Roman citizen.” 

Then, a lictor, standing behind the praetor, 
touched the slave three times with the fasces ; 
Corvinus seized him by the arm, turned him 
round, and, striking him a slight blo\V, said, 
with a smile, “ Go, and remember that, when 
I am ruined, you will owe me an allowance 
for my support, as my freedman.” 


THE SLAVE. 


35 


The German withdrew, and the slaves, at 
parting, carried him to drink, at a neighboring 
tavern. 

What Arvins had just seen gave a different 
turn to his ideas, and created in him a new 
hope. Until then he had only thought of 
finding his mother, and of seeking consolation 
in her society for the sorrows of slavery ; but 
he was now intoxicated with the thought that 
they might both, one day, recover their liberty. 

With the firm and prompt resolution which 
characterized his race, the young Celt quickly 
determined to set about their deliverance, 
while, at the same time, he continued his 
search. He was not ignorant how distant, 
and difficult of attainment, was the end he 
had in view ; but from his early years he had 
learned patience, and he knew that it needed 
but to wait, for the acorn to become an oak. 

He began by saving from his daily allow- 
ance of food all that was not absolutely ne- 
cessary for his support. He undertook, for a 
few sesterces, to perform a part of the labor 
of some of the slaves employed, like himself, 
about the equipages ; and he passed his nights 


36 


THE SLAVE. 


in the construction of the arms of his nation, 
which he afterwards sold to the curious. 

He could not long continue the inquiries 
which were necessary to discover Norva ; for 
the summer had now arrived, and his master 
set out, with his whole household, for his villa 
at BaisB. 

The journey was made in a litter, with fre- 
quent intervals of repose. Claudius Corvinus, 
who dreaded inns, with reason, had built sev- 
eral diversoriola^ or resting-places, along the 
way. They finally reached his villa, which 
was worthy, in every respect, of the palace 
which he occupied upon the Coelian Hill. 

Arvins, who had left Rome with regret, 
soon asked himself if he ought not rather to 
rejoice at the change. Compelled to live more 
simply, the master now demanded less from 
his slaves, and allowed them more leisure. 
In addition to the means of gain which he 
already had, the boy could then hire himself 
out, for several hours a day, to a neighboring 
gardener. 

His hoard thus increased slowly; but still 
it increased. Every evening he looked over 


THE SLAVE. 


37 


I 

( 

i 


i 


I 

I 


the deniers, the ases, and the sesterces col- 
lected with so much labor. He counted 
them, and made them ring against each other. 
The sound of this money delighted him, as it 
does a miser. As each piece fell into the 
earthen vase which contained his treasure, he 
seemed to hear one of the links of the chain 
break, which kept his mother and himself in 
captivity. 

The laborious habits of Arvins left him no 
time for idle talk, nor for the dissipations in- 
dulged in by his companions in captivity. 
Thus, although living in the midst of them, 
he remained a stranger to them. 

One only had approached him, and seemed 
interested in his efforts. This was an Arme- 
nian, of grave and gentle appearance, whom 
the other slaves ridiculed on account of his 
meekness and resignation. Nafel, for so he 
was called, was intrusted with the copying of 
the manuscripts with which Corvinus had 
enriched his library. His information was 
profound and varied, although, judging by 
his modest timidity, one would have thought 
him the simplest of men. He could recite, 


4 


38 


THE SLAVE. 


without hesitating, the finest passages of the 
philosophers and poets of Greece; but he 
preferred to them all, the writings of some 
unknown Jews, which he had copied for his 
own use, and which he constantly read. 

The calm fortitude of Arvins, and his pa- 
tient activity, had attracted Nafel, and he 
sought to gain the confidence of the young 
Armorican, who at first repulsed the advan- 
ces of the old man. But Nafel was not dis- 
couraged, and Arvins finally allowed himself 
to be overcome by his affectionate kindness. 
He disclosed to him his hopes. 

The Armenian smiled sadly. 

“ Do you think, then, that I shall be un- 
able to purchase the liberty of my mother 
and myself?^’ said the boy to him, with 
anxiety. 

“I do not think that; but what will you 
do with your liberty? Do not hope to re- 
turn to Armorica ; your old master would 
never allow that. You must live under his 
patronage, and support him if he falls into 
poverty. The law makes him your heir, at 
least to one half of your possessions ; and if 


THE SLAVE. 


39 


he has any cause of complaint against you, 
he can banish you twenty miles from Rome, 
to the borders of Campania. This is the 
liberty of the freedman; he is only a slave 
with a lengthened chain.” 

“ No matter,” said Arvins ; “ I shall at 
least be near my mother. We can talk to- 
gether of our own shores and forests, and I 
shall look for better times, whilst I whet my 
sword.” 

“ That is to say, you will live upon the hope 
of vengeance.” 

“ And the gods of Armorica will not be- 
tray my trust,” said Arvins, in a low voice. 
“ Our Druids have told us so. The day 
will come when every orphan shall water 
the grave of his father with hostile blood. 
I know the spot where mine reposes, Nafel ! 
I will make it ruddier than the purple 
with which our conquerors clothe them- 
selves ! ” 

The right hand of the young Celt was 
stretched out, as if he held a sword. Nafel 
was about to answer ; but he stopped short. 

“ The time has not yet come,” murmured 


40 


THE SLAVE. 


he. “ So long as you trust in your own 
strength, my child, you cannot understand 
the truth.” 

And, wrapping himself in his mantle, he 
departed, with his head bent down and his 
hands clasped together. 


THE SLAVE. 


41 


CHAPTER V. 

Arvins, meanwhile, had soon distinguished 
himself by his promptness in performing all 
that he was ordered to do. The zeal which 
others manifested through fear, he showed 
from a feeling of pride. 

Feeling the impossibility of resistance, he 
had given it up, from the first, and had deter- 
mined to do even more than should be re- 
quired of him. He thus avoided the reproofs 
and punishments which would have more 
painfully reminded him of his servitude, and 
his very obedience had the air of a voluntary 
act. This willing disposition gained him the 
favor of the steward; and the driver of the 
rhedae having died, Arvins was chosen to fill 
his place. 

Corvinus had quitted Rome only from 
weariness. Tired of festivity, luxury, and 
bustle, he had fancied that solitude would 
be to him an agreeable novelty. He also 
4 * 


42 


THE SLAVE. 


wished to make a trial of what was then 
much in vogue among the fine gentlemen 
of Rome, and had caused a suit of rooms 
to be arranged in his splendid villa, carpeted 
with matting, and scantily furnished, which 
was called “ the apartments of the poor.” 
He shut himself up there for several days, 
attended by a single slave, living only upon 
gray pease and radishes, which were served 
on dishes of Sabine earthen-ware, and of 
which he partook seated on a three-legged 
stool. But this frugal mode of life soon 
wearied him. The quiet of the country 
made him sigh for the excitement of the 
city, and, renouncing those rural pleasures, 
so much praised by city poets, he gave his 
orders for returning to Rome, without wait- 
ing for the cool season. 

The new duties of Arvins obliged him to 
accompany his master in the chariot-drives 
which he took every day, out of the city. 
The Appian Way, bordered by monuments, 
cypresses, and statues, was then the rendez- 
vous of the most polished society. There 
might be seen women celebrated for their 


THE SLAVE. 


43 


beauty, their wealth, or their coquetry ; Sena- 
tors, grown rich by turning informers ; legacy- 
hunters ; and freedmen who had become the 
favorites of the emperor ; and, finally, the 
descendants of Knights, whose effeminacy 
had disgraced the name of Trossuli, given to 
their ancestors after the taking of the Etru- 
rian city, Trossulum. 

One day, when Arvins was driving his mas- 
ter out as usual, some obstacle compelled the 
Numidians who preceded the chariot to stop. 
It was the suite of the celebrated matron, 
Metella, who was passing, preceded and fol- 
lowed by a multitude of slaves. She was 
half reclining in a litter, her left elbow rest- 
ing upon a cushion of Gallic wool, her head 
covered with a veil so delicate that the slight- 
est breath of wind threatened to carry it 
away, and her black hair entwined with pre- 
cious pearls. To protect herself from the 
overpowering heat, she held in each hand a 
crystal globe, and round her uncovered neck 
coiled a tame serpent. Two African couriers, 
wearing girdles of Egyptian linen, of dazzling 
whiteness, and silver bracelets, preceded the 


44 


THE SLAVE. 


litter. They were followed by a young slave, 
who shaded the face of Metella with a palm- 
branch adorned with peacocks’ feathers and 
fastened to the end of an Indian reed. By 
the side of the litter walked some Liburni- 
ans, carrying a footstool inlaid with ivory, to 
be used in descending from the litter; and 
lastly came nearly a hundred slaves, richly 
dressed. 

After looking for a moment at this splendid 
procession, Arvins turned away his eyes with 
indifference. Since he had frequented the 
Appian Way, habit had accustomed him to 
the lavishness of Roman luxury. The slaves 
of the matron’s suite had nearly all passed, 
and the Numidians of Corvinus had begun 
their march. The young Celt was preparing 
to follow them, when a cry was heard, close 
at hand. Arvins turned his head quickly ; a 
woman had left the procession of Metella, 
and was extending her arms towards him. 

“ My mother ! ” shrieked the boy, dropping 
the reins. 

The mules, no longer feeling any restraint, 
set off at full gallop. Arvins reached forward. 


THE SLAVE. 


45 


in vain, to stop them ; all his efforts served 
only to increase their speed. Finally, despair- 
ing of being able to seize the reins, he leaped 
from the chariot and looked about him. 

He was already far from the place where 
he had seen Norva. He ran back, in order to 
overtake her, but some Knights, who were 
striving to outstrip each other, and new 
equipages, detained him. The distracted 
boy threw himself among the horses and the 
chariots, and received blows and wounds 
without perceiving it. He traversed the Ap- 
pian Way, as far as the gate. But all in 
vain. Metella had returned to Rome, with 
her suite. Arvins at first felt an unspeakable 
emotion of despair. But he soon recovered 
himself, recollecting that it would be easy for 
him to find Norva, since he had overheard the 
name of her mistress. He was still consider- 
ing how he should discover Metella’s dwell- 
ing, when one of the couriers of Corvinus 
overtook him, and ordered him to return and 
take the reins of his chariot. Arvins obeyed, 
after a moment’s hesitation. 

The young patrician, who had been obliged 


46 


THE SLAVE. 


to wait, uttered not a word of reproach ; but 
he had hardly reached his palace, before he 
made a sign to the steward. Arvins did not 
understand its meaning till he saw the slave 
who administered punishment enter, bearing 
the furca* Arvins uttered an exclamation of 
surprise, and grew pale. The executioner 
smiled. 

“ Well, little one ! ” said he ; “ have you 
fallen into my hands at last? You have 
found it rather difficult to make my acquaint- 
ance. Well, well ! Our master is only too 
kind, and pleases himself with jesting with 
you too often. By Hercules ! If you had 
been the slave of a freedman, he would have 
had you devoured by the lampreys.” 

While saying these words, the executioner 
had fastened the furca to the breast and 
shoulders of Arvins. He tied his arms to the 
two longer extremities, and chained the boy 
to a stake placed near the entrance. 


* The fuTca was a heavy instrument of punishment for 
slaves, made of two pieces of wood shaped like a V, which 
they were obliged to cai-ry about their necks, with their hands 
tied to the ends of the instrument. 


THE SLAVE. 


47 


“ You are in a fine situation for taking 
the air,” said he, looking at Arvins with a 
malicious smile. The night is coming on, 
and you can study the stars at your leis- 
ure.” 

With these words, he made a gesture of 
farewell to Arvins, and disappeared. Arvins 
kept silence. His body remained erect ; his 
head was proudly raised, his look disdainful ; 
but in the depths of his heart raged a storm 
of agony and resentment. At that moment 
he would willingly have suffered the fiercest 
tortures, on condition of sharing them with 
Corvinus. 

The thought of his mother also increased 
his passion. But for the shameful punish- 
ment which was now inflicted on him he 
might already have found her ; he might even 
now clasp her in his arms. She was doubt- 
less expecting him, and perhaps reproached 
him for his delay. 

He was wholly given over to despair, when 
he heard the sound of his name repeated near 
him. His heart stood still. He thought he 
recognized that voice ! He turned his head, 


48 


THE SLAVE. 


— a woman sprang towards him, — it was 
Norva ! 

For a moment Aivins saw nothing, heard 
nothing ; he lay almost fainting in his moth- 
er’s arms. Never had so powerful a feeling 
agitated his young hoart. Norva was wild 
with delight ; she laughed and sobbed in the 
same breath, clapping her hands like a child, 
and covering her boy with kisses. 

This first transport of tenderness over, Ar- 
vins told the reason of the punishment which 
he was then enduring. On learning that she 
was the involuntary cause of his suffering, the 
poor mother began anew her caresses and her 
tears. 

The boy tried to console her. His delight 
at seeing her had wholly extinguished his an- 
ger. He thought no longer of the furca, nor 
of the chains which bound him. He could 
always have passed his life thus, if he could 
have seen his mother near him and received 
her embraces. 

Norva seated herself at the feet of her boy, 
and in her turn told him how, after having 
learned the name and the dwelling of his 


THE SLAVE. 


49 


master, she had fled from Metella^s house, 
thinking only of finding the house of Cor- 
t vinus that she might see him again. She 
questioned him as to alf he had done and 
' all he had thought during this long year 
of separation. As for herself, she had 
endured the harshest tortures of slavery. 
Like all women solely occupied with their 
own beauty, Metella, without pity, revenged 
herself on her slaves for the slightest wound 
offered by the world to her vanity. The 
least fatigue, or any feeling of impatience 
or caprice, continually manifested itself by 
some cruel punishment inflicted on those 
who served her. She even took a sort of sav- 
age delight in seeing them suffer before her 
eyes. For the smallest fault, she compelled 
them to place themselves on their knees and 
puff out their cheeks, that she might the 
more easily strike them in the face. Morgan, 
who was purchased by her at the same time 
with Norva, had already endured the lash 
three times for refusing to submit to this 
humiliation. 

While listening to this recital, Arvins was 

5 


50 


THE SLAVE. 


forced to acknowledge that fortune had fa- 
vored him in making him the slave of the 
Sybarite, Corvinus. 

Nafel had just learned the punishment to 
which Arvins had been condemned. He 
profited by a visit which the master made to 
his library, to ask the pardon of the boy. 
Corvinus made a sign that he granted it, and 
the young Celt was freed from his fetters. 
He then led his mother into a retired place, 
where they could continue their conversation 
with more freedom. 

For several hours Norva and her child en- 
tirely forgot their situation. They talked of 
Armorica, in the language of their own coun- 
try. They recalled the events of their past 
lives, the names of those whom they had 
known, the places where they had been hap- 
py. Arvins again recognized the accent, the 
gestures, the poetry, and the creed with which 
his childhood had been familiar. He was no 
longer at Rome, no longer a slave ; but the 
son of the great chief Menru, seated at his 
mother’s fireside, and learning from her lips 
the traditions of his people. 


THE SLAVE. 


51 


; Night came on, yet neither ?forva nor her 
I son perceived it. With eyes raised towards 
the blue sky of Italy, strewn with brilliant 
stars, they continued to talk of their distant 
country, without noticing the flight of time. 
Arvins confided to his mother his hope of 
freedom. 

“Morgan tells us, also, of deliverance,” 
said Norva ; “ but it is with the sword, and 
not with gold, that he hopes to obtain it.” 

“ Is a revolt in preparation ? ” asked Arvins, 
quickly. 

“ I fear so,” answered Norva. “ Morgan 

I. 

I keeps up a correspondence with the slaves of 
I our nation. Many of them have employed 
! their earnings in secretly purchasing arms ; 

: and at the first opportunity they will raise the 
i cry of war. The Dacians and the Germans 
also are plotting in secret, and I constantly 
hear whispered the name of Spartacus.” 

The eyes of Arvins sparkled. Norva per- 
ceived it, and, seizing her child’s hand with 
anxious tenderness, said, “ Remember that 
thou art too young to be concerned in such 
an undertaking.” 


52 


THE SLAVE. 


“ I am fifteen,” said Arvins, impatiently. 

“ Thou art not yet old enough for a war- 
rior; thou knowest it. It needs a stronger 
and more experienced arm to sustain the 
great name which thou bearest. Morgan has 
said so, and I forbid thee to take any part in 
this insurrection.” 

“ I will obey, mother,” said Arvins, in a low 
tone, his eyes filled with tears. 

Norva drew his head down upon her lap, 
with the caressing pity of a mother, and, kiss- 
ing his brow, said, — 

“ Do not be impatient, my child. Thou 
wilt soon reach the age of manhood, and then 
I shall have no more control over thee ; thou 
wilt be free to choose a battle-field, where 
thou wishest ; but till then, let me use my 
authority to preserve thy life ; let me enjoy 
these last days of a mother who feels that her 
son will soon cease to be a child, and will 
then desert her. Alas! Soon thou wilt be 
no more mine ! Thou wilt belong to thy pas- 
sions, to thy will, to another woman perhaps. 
Do not then grudge me these last hours of 
my dominion, and do not struggle against the 


THE SLAVE. 


53 


gentle tyranny of her who gave thee life. 
To-day I still cradle my child in my arms ; 
to-morrow he will be a man, and I shall be 
no longer indeed a mother, for I can no 
longer protect him.” 

Norva uttered these words in a tone so low 
and sad that Arvins was melted by it. He 
pressed her to his heart, calling her by the 
tenderest names, and promised to submit 
willingly to all her wishes. 


54 


THE SLAVE. 


CHAPTER VI. 

The night was passed in this affectionate 
intercourse. It was near sunrise, and Norva 
thought of returning to the house of her mis- 
tress. The boy asked and obtained permis- 
sion to accompany her. They were descend- 
ing the Coelian Hill, when they saw a band 
of slaves led by a freedman. At sight of 
them Norva stopped in alarm. 

Those are the domestic slaves of Metella,” 
said she. 

The slaves had recognized the mother of 
Arvins. They ran towards her and surround- 
ed her. 

“ So you are caught, at last,” said the 
freedman. 

“ What do you mean?” cried Norva. 

“ Have you not fled from the house of your 
mistress ? ” 

“ I was just returning to it.” 

The freedman burst into a laugh. “ Fugi- 


THE SLAVE. 


55 


tive slaves always say that,” said he. “ Bind 
her hands and lead her back.” 

Norva tried to explain, but they command- 
ed her to be silent. Arvins could succeed no 
better in making himself heard, and they 
dragged his mother away, in spite of all his 
elforts. 

“ What are you about to do ? ” demanded 
the terrified boy. 

“ Know you not what awaits fugitive 
slaves ? For fear lest they should be lost a 
second time, they are marked on the forehead 
I with a red-hot iron.” 

I 

Arvins uttered a shriek. “ It is impossible,” 
he said. “ I will see your mistress, and I wiM 
throw myself at her feet.” 

I “If you trouble her, she will inflict the 
same punishment upon you,” interrupted the 
freedman. 

“ On me ! ” cried Arvins. 

“ She can do so, by paying Corvinus what 
I damage may be done to him. Do you forget 
i that a slave is nothing but a costly vessel ? 

' If any one cracks or breaks it, he pays the 
i master for it, and that is all.” 


56 


THE SLAVE. 


“ Leave me, leave me ! ” cried the fright- 
ened mother. 

But Arvins would not listen to her. They 
at length arrived at the palace of Metella. 
She had not yet returned. The steward, who 
came to inquire, was informed what had hap- 
pened. Arvins would have tried to move 
him by entreaty, but he was rudely repulsed. 
“ Is there, then, no way to save my moth- 
er ? ” demanded the boy, in despair. 

“ Buy her,” replied the steward, ironically. 

“ Buy her,” repeated Arvins. “ Can one 
slave buy another ? ” 

“ Do you not know what a vicarius is ? ” 

• The boy, at last, recollected that some of 
his companions had other slaves, under their 
orders, whom they made to perform the more 
difficult and fatiguing labor ; but he did not 
know that they had been purchased with their 
own peculium or private property. 

“ How much will be enough to free my 
mother ? ” asked he, trembling. 

“ Three thousand sesterces.” 

The boy clasped his hands in despair. “ I 
have only two thousand,” murmured he. 









I 


OUR HOME IS BEYOND THE TIDE 




THE SLAVE. 


57 


But a ray of hope suddenly crossed his 
mind. Many of his companions had a pecu~ 
Hum, They would not, doubtless, refuse to 
lend him, each a few pence, and he might 
perhaps thus collect what he needed. He ran 
to the steward, who was about to go. 

“ 1 will soon return, with the three thousand 
sesterces,’’ said he, in a supplicating tone. 
“ Promise me only to suspend the punish- 
ment.” 

“ I will give you till the fourth hour.” 

Arvins thanked him, embraced his mother, 
weeping, and hurried away. 

He first ran to seek his own hoard, which 
he counted anew. He yet wanted a thousand 
sesterces to make up the required sum. He 
went to the slaves’ quarter, to implore assist- 
ance from them. But he found no one there. 
All was in commotion in the house of Corvi- 
nus. Pursued by the money-lenders, whose 
usurious loans had hastened his ruin, the 
young Patrician had just left his house, which 
the officers of justice had seized. Notices, 
containing a copy of the magistrate’s edict, 
and announcing the sale of all his effects, 


58 


THE SLAVE. 


were already suspended above the entrance. 
The officers of the treasury of the temple of 
Saturn, who were to preside at the auction, 
had arrived, as well as the receiver, whose 
business it was to take possession of the pro- 
ceeds of the articles sold. They had just 
completed an inventory of the property of 
Corvinus. 

At this moment, Arvins appeared, with the 
money in his hand. One of the creditors, 
selected by the others to preside at the sale, 
noticed the boy. 

“ What have you there ? ” asked he of Ar- 
vins. 

“ My peculium^^ replied Arvins. 

“ How much have you ? ” 

“ Two thousand sesterces.” 

“ That will assist in the liquidation of the 
debts of Corvinus,” said the Roman, as he 
extended his hand towards the vase in which 
Arvins had deposited his savings. 

“ This money belongs to me,” cried the boy, 
defending it with all his might. 

“ It belongs to your master, slave ! ” replied 
the creditor. “ You possess nothing of your 


THE SLAVE. 


59 


own, not even your life. Give up the two 
thousand sesterces, then, or beware of the 
lash ! ” 

“ Never ! ” cried Arvins, pressing his treas- 
ure to his breast. “ This money I have saved 
from my food and my sleep : it is intended to 
buy my mother. She will suffer, to-day, the 
punishment of a fugitive, if I . do not carry 
three thousand sesterces to her mistress. O 
do not take away this money, citizens! If 
you will not leave it to me from a sense of 
justice, do it for pity’s sake. You too have 
mothers. Pardon I pardon ! I ask it on my 
knees.” 

The young Celt threw himself at the feet 
of the treasurers of Saturn, and of the creditor. 
The latter shrugged his shoulders and made a 
sign to the heralds, whose business was to an- 
nounce the sale. They approached Arvins, 
and tried to snatch from him the two thou- 
sand sesterces. The boy defended himself 
with threats and passionate cries ; but, too 
weak to resist the men, he was finally stripped 
of his treasure. 

He got up, covered with dust, and mad 


60 


THE SLAVE. 


with rage. His eyes sought some weapon 
which he might use against them. 

The heralds seized him, laughing at his 
threats, thrust him out of the court, and shut 
the door. Arvins madly struck his head with 
his fists, as if he would punish himself for his 
want of power. At this moment a hand was 
placed lightly on his shoulder. He turned 
and saw Nafel. 

“ What is the matter, my child ? ” said he. 

“ My mother,” shrieked Arvins, whose voice, 
choked with anger and sobs, could only utter 
this one word. 

The Armenian tried to quiet him, by sooth- 
ing words, and made him relate what had 
happened. 

“ Console yourself,” said the Armenian. 
“ My peculium has not been seized ; it contains 
four thousand sesterces, and you shall have 
the whole of it.” 

Arvins started with surprise, not daring to 
trust his own ears. 

“ Come,” said Nafel. “ I have deposited it 
in charge of a brother on the Suburan Way; 
let us go and get it.” 


THE SLAVE. 


61 


The young Celt would have stammered out 
his thanks, but the Armenian imposed silence 
upon him. 

“ The service that we render another prof- 
its rather the benefactor than him whom he 
obliges,” said Nafel. “ For the latter receives 
only an earthly and transient benefit, while 
the other gains a right to eternal felicity. 
Thank me not, then, but follow me.” 

Both went to the house of the person to 
whom the money was intrusted ; but he was 
absent, and they were obliged to wait a long 
time. The agony of Arvins was terrible, and 
he trembled lest he should be too late. 

At length the Jew, who had the care of 
NafePs money, returned, and the four thou- 
sand sesterces were delivered to the young 
Celt, who ran to the dwelling of Metella. 

While passing the basilica of Julian, he 
raised his eyes. 

The clepsydra marked the fourth hour ; Ar- 
vins felt a chill pass through his frame. He 
kept on his way with frantic eagerness, crossed 
the Forum, and at last reached the gate of 
Metella. 


6 


62 


THE SLAVE. 


Just as he reached the threshold, a fearful 
cry was heard. The boy supported his totter- 
ing limbs against the wall. 

“ You come too late,’’ said Morgan, who 
was waiting him at the entrance. 

“Where is my mother? Where is she?” 
cried Arvins. 

The old Celt took him by the hand, with- 
out answering, and drew him towards the 
court. 

The court-yard was full of slaves, who were 
talking together in a low voice. In the midst 
stood the slave who administered punishment, 
near a heated brasier. Norva was crouching 
at his feet. 

Arvins sprang towards her, extending his 
arms ; but scarcely had he glanced at her, 
when he uttered a cry of horror; a mist 
swam before his eyes ; his limbs failed him, 
and he fell, fainting, by the side of his 
mother. 


THE SLAVE. 


63 


CHAPTER VII. 

Two hours later, Norva was stretched, 
dying, upon the matting which served her as 
a bed, her hands placed in those of her son, 
whose name she still murmured. Morgan, 
with his head bowed down and his arms 
crossed, was standing near the pallet. 

The poor mother, who was still conscious 
of the presence of Arvins, repressed her 
moans, and tried at intervals to smile upon 
him : but that very smile chilled his heart. 
Her forehead had been bound up with a linen 
cloth, through which trickled the dark blood. 
She could no longer raise her eyelids swollen 
with pain, and her breath issued with a fear- 
ful hissing sound from her white lips. 

Arvins, overwhelmed with despair, restrained 
his sobs that he might not increase his moth- 
er’s suffering; but the few hours which had 
just passed had marked his countenance with 
furrows deep as those produced by a long 


64 


•THE SLAVE. 


illness. Bending over Norva’s couch, he 
watched, with anxious face, her every motion, 
observed her increasing paleness, and listened 
to her painful breathing. 

Suddenly she extended her arms and 
made an effort to rise. “ Arvins,” stammered 
she, “ where art thou ? Thy hands ! I 
cannot feel thy hands! O press me to thy 
heart. Do not leave me, Arvins, — my poor 
child — ” 

Her head fell back on her son’s shoulder. 
There was an instant of awful silence. Ar- 
vins, in despair, dared not turn his head. 

“ My mother ! ” said he, at length, in a 
choking voice. 

“ She has gone to rejoin Menru,” mur- 
mured Morgan. 

The boy quickly raised Norva’s head ; but 
it fell back insensible and inanimate. He 
was an orphan. 

We will not attempt to paint his despair. 
For a moment even Morgan himself was 
alarmed. The boy had experienced, since the 
previous night, so many emotions, that his 
strength was exhausted. A burning fevk 


THE SLAVE. 


65 


was consuming him; his mind wandered, 
and for some hours his grief amounted to 
delirium. At last exhaustion itself restored 
calmness to his soul. 

Morgan, who had never left him, profited 
by the interval to revive his courage. 

“ They have killed thy mother,” said he, in 
a low tone. “ It is useless to weep for her. 
Let us rather think how to avenge her.” 

“ Avenge her,” repeated Arvins. “ O, how 
can it be done ? ” 

“ Recover thy strength, to be ready to fol- 
low me when the time comes.” 

The young Celt sprang up, with a bound. 
“ Come on ! ” said he, “ I am ready.” 

“ We must wait yet longer,” replied the 
old man. “ But fear nothing. Vengeance 
will be none the less terrible for being de- 
layed.” 

He then unfolded to Arvins the conspiracy 
of the slaves. The revolt was to break out 
in Rome itself. The plan was, to set fire to 
the city, and murder all whom the fire should 
spare. 

The boy listened with fierce eagerness to 
6 * 


66 


THE SLAVE. 


these details, which promised ample satisfac- 
tion to his revenge. Educated in the princi- 
ples of his race, he firmly believed that these 
bloody sacrifices would gratify the manes of 
Norva. To shed Roman blood was to prove 
his tenderness for the dead. He saw in ven- 
geance, not a personal gratification, but a 
sacred duty and a holy expiation. 

The idea of thus appeasing the manes of 
his mother restored his strength. He re- 
pressed his grief and awaited the signal with 
impatience. 

It was given at last. The slaves burst 
into the Forum, torch in hand ; but the Con- 
suls had been already warned, and had pre- 
pared themselves ; the rebels found themselves 
almost instantly surrounded. 

The greater number threw down their arms 
and sought safety in flight. Only a few Ger- 
mans and Celts, among whom were Morgan 
and Arvins, attempted to offer any resistance. 
Overwhelmed by numbers, all fell, wounded 
in the act of fighting, and surrounded by the 
dead bodies of their enemies. 

Morgan and Arvins were raised, half dead, 


THE SLAVE. 


67 


from their bloody couch. As it was hoped 
that some useful revelations might be made 
by them, they were placed in separate dun- 
geons, where their wounds were dressed. 

Both were restored to life ; but neither 
questioning nor torture could force them to 
betray their accomplices. The executioners 
were obliged to own themselves conquered, 
and the two Armoricans were thrown into 
the common prison, where were kept the vic- 
tims destined for the wild beasts. 

When Arvins and Morgan met, they pressed 
each other’s hands, without speaking, and 
seated themselves near each other. Both had 
been disappointed in their last hope, and they 
were about to die, failed and vanquished. 
There was a long silence. 

“ My mother will not be avenged,” said 
Arvins, at last, in a sad tone. 

“ Our gods have not so willed it,” replied 
Morgan. 

“ What are thy gods, then ? ” bitterly de- 
manded the son of Norva. “ They can nei- 
ther defend us at our hearths, nor protect us 
in slavery. Why should we worship them, if 


68 


THE SLAVE. 


they are powerless ? And if they have power, 
why do they abandon us ? The gods of 
Rome are the only true divinities, for they 
alone preserve liberty ! ” 

“ Let us invoke them, then,” said Morgan, 
contemptuously. “ Dost thou think that they 
will listen to the voice of a slave ? They 
grant their favors only to the master ; for us, 
whom they deliver into the hands of the Ro- 
mans, they are not gods, but enemies.” 

“ Must the whole world then,” asked Arvins, 
“ exist henceforth only as the beast of burden 
for one single city ? O, why were we born to 
such a fate ? Why not, in pity, strangle the 
infant as it opens its eyes to the light of day ? 
Surely some evil spirit has made the uni- 
verse, if it must be for ever abandoned to in- 
justice and to slavery.” 

“ The reign of peace and liberty approach- 
es,” said a soft voice. Arvins raised his head 
in astonishment. It was Nafel. 

“ Are you too here ? ” cried he. “ Have 
you also conspired against our oppressors ? ” 

“ No,” replied the Armenian. “ They have 
condemned me to the beasts, only because 


THE SLAVE. 


69 


1 adore such a God as you but now de- 
sired.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I am a Christian.” 

Arvins looked at Nafel, inquiringly. He 
had often heard this name of Christian pro- 
nounced with contempt. It was called the 
religion of criminals and of the wretched, — a 
fable of Judaea which had attracted only the 
lowest of the people, as everything does which 
is new. 

“ If your God is good,” said the son of 
Norva, “ is he, then, without power, since he 
has abandoned you to your enemies?” 

“ My God loves me,” answered Nafel. 
“ He wishes to make me an instrument to 
sustain his law. Every faithful one who dies 
waters with his blood the seed of the new 
faith. By seeing martyrs die, and hearing 
them cry, ‘ I am a Christian,’ many are led to 
ask, ‘ What means that word, which teaches 
men to die without regret, and pardoning 
their executioners ? ’ ” 

And what does it mean ? ” asked Arvins. 

“ It means that we believe in one true God, 


70 


THE SLAVE. 


in him who has made the earth for man, and 
who has made men to live together like 
brethren. All the false divinities which now 
share the adoration of mankind will soon fall, 
for they are only types of human passions. 
There will remain God alone, who is the Sun 
of all!” 

“ And what does his law require ? ” asked 
Arvins. 

“ Liberty and brotherhood among men, the 
happiness of all, and the self-sacrifice of each. 
The holiest, in his eyes, are not those who are 
the happiest, but those who suffer most. His 
law teaches us to overcome violence and 
break the fetters, not by resistance, but by 
meekness and submission. The day will 
come, and it is perhaps not far distant, when 
the equality of men will be proclaimed; for 
Christianity is not only a creed for our faith ; 
it is the law of humanity, the spirit of the 
future. It is a new era announced to the 
world.” 

“ And we shall not see it,” said the son of 
Norva. 

“ What matters it to us ? This earth is not 


THE SLAVE. 


71 


our abiding-place. Even if reformed accord- 
ing to the law of Christ, it would be but the 
shadow of the better world where every one 
will be rewarded according to his works.” 

“ And what will open this world to us ? ” 
inquired Arvins. 

“ Death ! ” replied Nafel. 

Arvins was silent for a moment. The 
words of the Armenian had touched him 
deeply. He perceived the dawn of an unex- 
pected light, and caught a glimpse of a new 
horizon beyond. Never had an idea so 
grand, so beautiful, and so consoling, been 
presented to his mind. He compared this 
religion, founded upon justice and love, with 
the barbarous doctrines of Morgan ; and he 
contrasted the powerlessness of his gods, who 
had deserted him in his despair, with the gen- 
erosity of the God of the Christian, who, to 
repay him for the ills of this life, showed him, 
beyond the tomb, an eternal existence where 
the reign of justice begins. 

“ Thus,” continued he, after long reflection, 
“ thy belief, Nafel, confirms here below a law 
of justice and truth, and, as every human 


72 


THE SLAVE. 


work is imperfect, it promises another life 
where injustice will be repaired, where the 
guilty will be punished, and the afflicted con- 
soled. There will be found, in all its perfec- 
tion, that which the law of Christ can but 
imperfectly establish among men, and the 
heavenly life will be the continuation and 
perfecting of the present life.” 

“ Yes,” answered the Armenian ; “ and it is 
for us, who know the truth, to confess it in 
the face of all mankind, and to announce, 
when we fall in the circus, this good tidings 
to the human race.” 

“ Nafel ! ” cried Arvins, rising, “ I will die 
a Christian!” 


THE SLAVE. 


73 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A FEW days afterwards, notices placed in 
all the public buildings announced a specta- 
cle granted by the Emperor to the Roman 
people. The crowd hastened towards the 
circus, and slowly covered the steps, like a 
rising tide. Slaves with rakes were smooth- 
ing the dusty arena, while the gladiators, 
bare-headed, and clothed only in tunics with- 
out sleeves, were walking slowly before the 
cells in which the wild beasts were confined. 

The condemned were brought in. There 
were nearly two hundred. In the first rank 
walked Nafel and Arvins. Morgan followed 
them, with head erect and calm eye. As they 
passed the Emperor’s seat, all bowed, repeat- 
ing, according to custom, “ Caesar ! those who 
are about to die salute you ! ” 

They reached the centre of the circus, 
where they were freed from their bonds. 

7 . 


74 


THE SLAVE. 


Then the lictors withdrew with the slaves 
and the gladiators. 

The deep silence of expectation followed ; 
all eyes were fixed upon the arena. At that 
moment Nafel took the hand of Arvins, and 
cried out, with a loud voice : “ Romans ! the 
God of the Christians is the only true God. 
This child and I will die, confessing his 
name ! ” 

He had scarcely finished, when the roaring 
of the wild beasts was heard. All the cells 
had been opened, and the beasts were pour- 
ing into the arena. Most of the condemned 
fled ; but Arvins and Nafel fell on their knees, 
with their hands raised towards heaven. 

Then began a fearful struggle; but the 
dust which arose enveloped all as with a 
thick cloud. Nothing could be distinguished 
through it, but men pursued by wild beasts ; 
— shrieks and fierce roarings filled the air ; — 
then all was still. And when the cloud dis- 
persed, there were to be seen only bears, 
tigers, and lions, crouching amidst blood, and 
gnawing the remains of their victims. 


i 

a 




» ^ 


I * • 

' y. 




4 




? .'.r' 





THE SEEF. 





i .' 



I ‘ 




THE SERF. 


CHAPTER I. 

In the corner of a poor cabin, covered with 
mossy thatch, with unglazed windows, and 
whose crumbling walls admitted the entrance 
of both wind and rain, a few goats, lying 
on a litter of mouldy straw, were quietly nib- 
bling, while a lean cow was with difficulty 
pulling from the rack the remains of some 
coarse hay, mixed with rushes. 

The entire furniture of the hut consisted of 
a few stools, a table, rudely constructed, and 
a pallet, raised on four wooden posts and 
covered with straw ; this was the only bed in 
the dwelling. 

A white-haired man was lying upon the 
bed, with his eyes closed ; but it was easy to 
7 * 


78 


THE SERF. 


see, by his irregular respiration and the slight 
trembling of his lips, that sickness rather than 
slumber kept him there. A young boy of 
about sixteen, seated on the other side of the 
hearth, was occupied in keeping up the fire 
under an iron kettle. 

He had just uncovered it, and seemed to be 
enjoying the odor which arose from it, when 
a young girl, of his own age, entered, carrying 
a piece of butter wrapped in a bit of brown 
cloth. 

“ Good morning, Jehan,” said she, in a low 
tone, turning her eyes towards the bed, as if 
she feared to waken the sick man. 

Jehan turned quickly, at the sound of the 
well-known voice ; and a ray of joy chased 
away for a moment the usually discontented 
expression of his face. 

“ Good morning, Catie,” replied he, in a 
soft and gentle tone, as he advanced towards 
the young girl. 

“ How is your father ? ” asked she. 

Jehan shook his head. “ Still very feeble. 
His illness has been a severe shock to him, 
and he will need great care to enable him to 
recover his health.” 


THE SERF. 


79 


“Here is something for him, Jehan,” an- 
swered Catherine, showing the bit of cloth 
which contained the butter.. 

Jehan smiled. “Thank you! thank you! 
good Catie,” said he ; “ this will be a feast- 
day for him, for 1 have something here al- 
ready to restore his strength.” 

“ What is it, Jehan ? ” 

“ Look here ! ” 

He uncovered the iron pot, suspended over 
the fire. The girl stretched forward her head, 
and, blowing away the steam which rose 
from it, that she might see better, “ Chicken 
broth ! ” cried she, in surprise. 

“ The tax-gatherer gave it to me, for hav- 
ing taught him to draw up his account in 
Latin.” 

“ Good ! ” cried Catherine, laughing ; “ by 
means of taking from every one who enters 
the city a handful of meal, or salt, or prunes. 
Master Jaques has become the richest man 
of the country round, and can pay for his les- 
sons like a lord. But does your father know 
what you are preparing for him ? ” 

“ He was sleeping when I returned.” 


80 


THE SERF. 


“ Let US get everything ready, then, before 
he awakes. I have here some nuts and cher- 
ries, and they shall be his dessert.’^ 

Saying this, Catherine emptied her wicker- 
basket upon the table. Jehan opened a closet, 
took out bowls, plates, spoons, and wooden 
cups, and both together began to lay the 
table. 

The singular affection which seemed to 
unite these two children was the more re- 
markable, as nature never, perhaps, formed 
two beings more unlike. Catherine was tall 
and well made ; all her features had a gentle 
sweetness, every motion an easy grace. Only 
to see her made you feel kindly towards her, 
and the pleasant smile which always parted 
her lips made you smile in sympathy. 

Jehan, on the contrary, was short, thick-set, 
and clumsy. The expression of his harsh 
features was rather enfeebled than softened 
by the hereditary shock of hair which had 
given to one of his ancestors the nickname of 
Red-head, Born a serf, and having been con- 
stantly subdued, since he had been able to 
feel anything, both in his will and in his feel- 


THE SERF. 


81 


ings, his whole being wore an indescribable 
expression of constraint, of suffering and de- 
fiance, which made it almost repulsive. He 
showed himself tractable and submissive only 
towards his father and his cousin Catherine. 
For them nothing was a trouble to him. Be- 
fore them the wolf-cub became a lamb, and 
even his ugliness acquired a sort of grace. 

All the young man’s happiness was centred 
in these two affections. His father alone re- 
mained to him of his family, and all his hopes 
for the future were fixed upon Catherine, for 
he was to marry her some day. The young 
girl’s mother had promised it, and nothing 
more was wanting but to obtain the consent 
of his lord, the Count, who was not in the 
habit of refusing requests of that nature. 

Meantime, the two children had set the ta- 
ble and the chicken-broth was ready. The 
patient at last stirred, and Catherine uttered 
an exclamation of joy. 

“ Ah ! Is it you, little one ? ” said the old 
man, raising himself with difficulty on his 
elbow. “ Are you not taking care of his 
lordship’s cows to-day ? ” 


82 


THE SERF. 


“ The king was hunting in the forest, and 
the cattle have not been let out, for fear of the 
hounds,” replied the young peasant-girl. 

“ The king ! ” repeated the old serf ; “ and 
you have not gone out to see him on the 
road, Jehan ? ” 

“ You needed me, father,” replied he. 

“ And he has not waited for nothing,” con- 
tinued Catherine. “ Look here.” 

Old Thomas Lerouge turned towards the 
children. “ What ! the table set ! ” cried he, 
in astonishment. 

“ You are to have a nice broth,” said the 
young girl. 

“ And some butter,” said Jehan. 

“ And some cherries,” added the old man, 
who was now sitting up in his bed. 

“ Come, father, this is a feast in honor of 
your convalescence,” said Catherine, joyfully 
clapping her hands. “ Come, sit here with 
Jehan, and I will wait upon you.” 

She ran to the hearth and took off the ket- 
tle, the contents of which she poured into a 
wooden dish and placed smoking upon the 
table. Thomas had thrown off the goat-skins 


THE SERF. 


83 


which served him as a coverlid. He remained 
sitting upon the edge of his bed, watching all 
these preparations with the hungry look and 
smile of a convalescent. At length he rose 
^ to approach the table, when a great noise was 
heard without. Jehan ran to the door, but it 
was rudely opened before he could bolt it, 
and gave entrance to half a dozen huntsmen, 
I bearing the king’s arms embroidered upon 
j their breasts. 

I They entered noisily, asking, loudly, for the 
forester’s house ; but at sight of the well- 
spread table and the dish of soup, the savory 
odor of which filled the whole hut, they ut- 
tered exclamations of satisfaction. 

I “ Mercy on us ! ” cried the oldest of the 
hunters, winding round his body the whip 
which he had in his hand, “ we need not look 
for the forester’s house. Here is enough to 
satisfy our hunger till night.” 

“ Upon my soul I it is a chicken broth ! ” 
exclaimed a tall, black-haired fellow, whose 
nostrils, gratified by the fumes of the savory 
mess, seemed to dilate with pleasure. “ I 
speak for the right wing of the chicken.” 


84 


THE SERF. 


« And I for the left!” cried out, quickly, a 
light-haired young man, who had already 
seized upon the best stool. 

“ The thighs for me,” said the older one. 

“ And the carcass for me,” added a fourth. 

“ Softly, my masters ! ” interrupted Jehan, 
whose face now wore again its hard and mo- 
rose expression. “ Here are three of us who 
want a share too.” 

“ There is none too much for ourselves,” 
said the tall, dark fellow, who had already 
drawn his knife. 

“ That may be ; but it is usual for those who 
have cooked a repast to be the first to eat.” 

“ You forget that we belong to the king’s 
suite,” replied the oldest huntsman, “ and, 
by that title, we can take the plate from your 
hand and the cup from your lips, and oblige 
you to leave the bed upon which you lie.” 

“ Can it be so ? ” cried Jehan. 

“ Alas ! yes,” murmured old Thomas, with 
a sigh. “ That is what they call the right of 
seizure.” 

“ And you cannot even share this repast, 
which I have prepared for you, father ? ” said 
the young boy. 


THE SERF. 


85 


Not unless the old man has a privilege 
which authorizes him to reserve his portion,” 
replied the light-haired man. 

“ I have no right to anything but that 
which you may please to leave me,” said 
Thomas, with the meek submissiveness of an 
invalid and an old man. 

“Leave you!” cried the one who had al- 
ready spoken. “We should need a much 
larger allowance for that. Don’t you see that 
we have hardly a taste for ourselves ? ” 

“ My father is just recovering from a dan- 
gerous illness,” said Jehan, impatiently. 

“ Less dangerous than hunger, I sup- 
pose.” 

“ Give him a place, at least, at the end of 
the table.” 

“ The table is too small,” rudely answered 
the tall, dark fellow. 

“ Besides,” added another, “ you can find a 
second chicken to make a broth with when we 
are gone.” 

Jehan clenched his fists, and his eyes flashed; 
but Catherine placed her hand upon his shoul- 
der. “ The king’s people are masters every- 
8 


86 


THE SERF. 


where,” said she, in a low voice. Do not 
forget that.” 

As for Thomas Lerouge, he bore this dis- 
appointment with the silent patience of a 
man who was used to it. Yet it was easy to 
see that the loss of the delicate food, upon 
which he had, for the moment, reckoned, was 
peculiarly hard for him to bear. His eyes fol- 
lowed the motions of the huntsmen with an 
expression of vexation, of fear and longing; 
his lips parted instinctively, and moved as if 
he were sharing their meal. Twice, he even 
stooped stealthily to pick up the half-gnawed 
bones which they had thrown upon the ground. 
Jehan, who saw it, felt his eyelids swell with 
tears, and hastily left the hut. 

He returned an hour afterwards, bearing a 
bundle of fagots, which he threw into a corner. 
The huntsmen were gone, and Catherine had 
put everything in its place. She was just 
preparing to take leave of Thomas, for night 
was coming on. Jehan proposed to accom- 
pany her to the grove, to which she assented ; 
but as the two were about to set out, a new 
troop of men appeared at the door of the 
cabin. 


THE SERF. 


87 


This time, it was the people of Raoul de 
Mailie, who had come to execute their lord’s 
orders. Master Moreau, the steward, was at 
their head, carrying a black staff, tipped with 
silver. 

‘‘ Where is Thomas Lerouge ? ” asked he 
of the young boy, who had uncovered his 
head, on seeing him. 

“ Here,” answered Jehan. 

‘‘ And why has he failed to perform the ser- 
vices due, this month ? ” 

“ Because a fever has kept him in bed.” 

‘‘ I know that,” replied the steward ; “ but 
you ought to have taken his place : I ordered 
you to do so.” 

“ And I told you that the thing was impos- 
sible,” said Jehan. 

“ Why so?” 

“ Because my father needed my care.” 

The steward grew red with anger. 

‘‘Very well!” said he; “so you stayed at 
home to keep your word! You wished to 
show that Master Moreau’s orders might be 
disobeyed with impunity ! ” 

“ Not at all,” interrupted Jehan. 


88 


THE SERF. 


Very good ! very good ! ” continued the 
steward, striking his cane upon the ground. 
“ We shall see who will get the best of it, if 
you undertake to resist his lordship’s author- 
ity ! ” 

“ I never thought of such a thing,” said the 
boy. 

“ You refuse to obey my orders.” 

But consider. Master, — ” 

“ Nothing ; I will not hear a word. Ah ! the 
forester was right in calling you an unreason- 
able, good-for-nothing fellow. But his lord- 
ship’s interests must not suffer from the obsti- 
nacy of his serfs. You shall pay a fine for 
all the services in which you have failed.” 

Jehan shrugged his shoulders. “ Luckily, 
all the bailiffs in the country could not find a 
single sou in our house,” said he, bitterly. 

“ Well ! I shall do better than the bailiffs, 
for I shall find some,” cried the steward. 

“ Search the purse, Master Moreau,” said 
the boy, half opening a leather pouch sus- 
pended from his belt. 

“ No ! ” said the steward ; but I shall search 
your house, idiot ! ” 


THE SERF. 


89 


“ You will find nothing in it but illness and 
misery.’’ 

“ I shall at least find a lean cow beside,” 
said the steward, making a sign to one of his 
men to unfasten the animal from the rack. 

Jehan started. “ What are you doing ? ” 
cried he. 

“I am searching your purse, as you told 
me to do,” said Moreau, sarcastically. 

“ For Heaven’s sake,” cried Jehan, “ you 
would not carry off the cow ? ” 

“ Why not, then ? ” 

“ Consider, Master, that the robbers have 
cut down our rye in the ear, the wolves have 
devoured our goats, and this cow is our last 
hope. If you take her away, my father and I 
shall be left without resources.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” said the steward ; “ a scholar 
like you cannot fail to make a fortune. Did 
you not tell the tax-gatherer that I wrote my 
accounts in bad Latin ? ” 

“ Well, then,” replied Jehan, “ must not one 
say what is true ? ” 

“ So be it,” answered the steward ; “ but I 
shall none the less for that add to my list of 


90 


THE SERF. 


confiscated goods, — Item, vacca Thomasii, 
cognomine Rubric 

And turning towards his servants, he said, 
sharply, “ Lead away the beast ! ” 

They were about to obey, but Jehan held 
her by one of her horns. 

‘‘ This must not be. Master Moreau ! said 
he, with a voice trembling with anger and 
emotion. The services which my father and 
I have failed to perform are not worth the 
value of this cow. I will speak to his lord- 
ship ; he shall know how you revenge yourself 
upon poor people for your own blunders.” 

“ Blunders ! ” cried the exasperated Moreau. 

“ I have your last receipts to prove it,” an- 
swered Jehan, with bitter sarcasm. 

“ It is false ! ” screamed the steward, whose 
weak point lay in his pretensions to the lan- 
guage of Cicero. 

“ Shall I show them to the treasurer ? ” 

“ Mentoris impudenter.^’ 

‘‘ Mentiris, you mean. Master.” 

The steward blushed, and his servants 
looked at each other with a smile. 

“ Curse the clown who undertakes to tutor 


THE SERF. 


91 


his elders,” cried Moreau. “ The old curate 
did well, forsooth, to put books into his hands. 
A serf need only know how to turn up the 
soil and hold the plough. But enough of 
this ! Carry off the cow, fellows ! ” 

Not unless his lordship orders it,” inter- 
rupted Jehan, keeping hold of the cow. 

“ Let go that horn, rascal ! ” 

“ When you let go the rope.” 

The steward raised his black stick, which 
fell upon the head of the light-haired youth ; 
but Jehan did not give Moreau time to strike 
a second blow. Darting towards him, he 
seized him by the throat, with a yell of rage, 
threw him to the ground, and kneeled upon 
him. Fortunately, the servants interposed, 
and with difficulty separated Jehan from the 
steward, and raised the latter from the 
ground. 

The fall had so stunned him, that, for some 
time, he was like a drunken man just coming 
to his senses; but he had hardly recovered 
himself, when all his fury returned. 

“ Stop the assassin ! ” screamed he, point- 
ing to Jehan. “ He has insulted one of his 


92 


THE SERF. 


lordship’s officers! He must be tried, — tried 
and hanged ! You shall pay dearly for this ! ” 
Moreau’s followers seized the young peas- 
ant, who tried in vain to defend himself. 
They tied his hands behind his back, and 
placed a whip-handle in his mouth for a gag. 

Take him to the castle,” said Master 
Moreau. “ His lordship will return to-mor- 
row, and he will decide what shall be done 
with him. Wretch ! you would resist the 
steward of the castle, — you think you know 
Latin better than he, — you dare to raise your 
hand against your master! Well, well, we 
shall see what you will get by it ! ” 

And pushing away the old man and Cath- 
erine, who followed him with entreaties, he 
cried, “ Peace, peace, I say ! There is no 
pardon for such crimes. A halter, a halter, 
for the miscreant ! and to the Devil with him, 
as he deserves.” 


THE SERF. 


93 


CHAPTER II. 

The same right of conquest which, in 
ancient times, divided society into freemen 
and slaves, had created, in the Middle Ages, 
the distinction of lord and serf. The latter 
was then, strictly speaking, only a slave with 
a lengthened chain. Bound to his glebe, that 
is to say, to the land which he cultivated, he 
owed to his master the best part of his time 
and earnings, and was obliged, in case of his 
lord’s being taken prisoner, to pay a ransom. 

But, as a compensation, a certain portion 
of his savings belonged to himself; he lived 
at home, worked on his own account, and did 
not receive orders, directly, from the mas- 
ter. He was rather a debtor than a servant. 
Many serfs, enriched by their own labor, 
had ended by purchasing their freedom ; and 
hence arose the order of burghers. 

This class, vassals of the king, or of some 
other feudal lord, — that is to say, subjected to 


94 


THE SERF. 


certain acts of homage and certain tenures, — 
was constantly advancing towards emancipa- 
tion, and already formed that third estate 
which was destined, one day, to surpass the 
other two. The power of the corporations, 
or assemblies of the citizens, had already, in 
the fifteenth century, the period of our story, 
begun to be formidable, and the whole ambi- 
tion of the serf was to participate in them. 
The clergy, which had favored emancipation 
from the beginning, continued to labor for the 
overthrow of serfdom, taking the part of the 
weak against the strong, and declaring the 
equality of all men before God. But the no- 
bles, on their part, who felt that their power 
was on the wane, became more jealous of their 
rights, and employed, by turns, extreme indul- 
gence or excessive severity, for the purpose 
of maintaining them. Although the Feudal 
System was menaced, it still continued un- 
broken, and all the more prominent, because it 
found itself in opposition to a new order of 
things. 

The French nation then, at that time, com- 
prised four distinct classes,— the nobles, the 


THE SERF. 


95 


ecclesiastics, the burghers, and the serfs. 
Above them all, was the power of the king, 
which was increasing every day, to the 
prejudice of the great lords. Nevertheless, 
the lords had preserved their most important 
privileges ; such as the right of making war 
upon each other, of laying taxes on their 
own lands, and of administering justice. 
This last privilege, the most formidable of 
all, gave them, in fact, a power of life and 
death over their people; for their decrees, 
without appeal, were often only the ex- 
pression of their anger or their clemency. 
Passion decreed and executed its own sen- 
tence. 

In such a state of things, the anxiety of 
Catherine and Thomas Lerouge, when they 
saw Jehan carried off, is easily understood. 
Count Raoul was known to be a passionate 
man, who condemned without a hearing, and 
who rarely reversed a sentence ; and it was 
to be feared that Master Moreau, whose cun- 
ning equalled his malice, would profit by this 
to injure Jehan. 

'Catherine ran to the tax-gatherer’s house, to 


96 


THE SERF. 


beg him to intercede in her cousin’s behalf ; 
but he refused to meddle with an affair which 
might compromise himself, without benefit to 
them. It was the same with the provost, 
who feared lest his horse should be sent 
home, which was out grazing in his lord- 
ship’s field, under favor of Master Moreau; 
and the same also with the notary, who 
was apprehensive that the steward might de- 
prive him of his business at the castle. 

Catherine returned to carry the bad news to 
Thomas. As she was passing along near the 
edge of the corn-field, with heavy heart and 
swollen eyes, she saw a Franciscan monk, 
who was approaching by another path, and 
also going towards Rille. 

He was an old man, but his cheerful face 
betokened a benevolent heart. He carried 
a staff, and wore a cape and a cord across 
his shoulders, to which were attached a small 
loaf of brown bread, a gourd, and a mass- 
book. 

Catherine greeted him respectfully. 

“ Good morning, my child,” said the 
monk. “ Whence do you come, now, at 


THE SERF. 


97 


a time when everybody is at work in the 
fields ? ” 

“ I come from the provost’s house, Father,” 
replied Catherine, in a melancholy tone. 

“ From the provost’s ! Have you any con- 
cern with the law ? ” 

“ None for myself, but much for my cousin 
Jehan.” 

“ What crime has he committed ? ” 

The young girl related what had happened 
the evening before, and how Jehan had been 
carried off to the prison of the castle. 

“ God help him ! ” said Father Ambrose, 
for that was the name of the Franciscan. 
“ An hour ago, I saw Count Raoul pass by, 
with all his train of followers, and he looked 
like a thunder-cloud. One of his squires told 
the villagers that he had been unhorsed three 
times in the tournament at Angers, and that 
he was in a terrible rage about it.” 

“ O, what say you. Father ! ” cried Cath- 
erine. “ The steward will take advantage 
of this ill-humor to speak about Jehan, and 
they will have him hanged on the gallows 
before the castle ! ” 

9 


98 


THE SERF. 


“We must trust in his mercy/^ said the | 
monk, in a tone that showed he did not ex- 
pect anything from it himself. 

“ Ah, no ! no ! ” cried the girl, clasping her 
hands, and bursting into tears ; “ Lord Raoul 
never pardons when he is angry. Whenever j 
anything vexes him, he revenges himself on 
the first one within his reach. There is no 
more hope for Jehan, my poor Jehan ! And 
what will become of the old father? and 
what will become of us all, without him? ^ 
Oh ! if you only knew him, reverend sir ! 
Bold as the wild-boar towards those who 
insult him, but gentle as a spaniel to those i 
whom he loves ! To think that no one 
dares to tell the truth in his defence, neither 
the provost, nor the notary, nor the tax- 
gatherer! Nobody but his old father and I 
would dare to say that the steward is in the 
wrong, and that he struck him and injured 
him. But, poor creatures that we are, no- ' 
body will listen to us, and Jehan will be 
hanged. Ah ! why can I not save him, even 
with my own life ? ” j 

While saying this, the child sobbed and 


THE SERF. 


99 


pressed her clasped hands to her breast. 
The monk was moved. 

“ Conduct me to the castle of Lord Raoul,” 
said he, “ and I will speak for the prisoner.” 

Catherine uttered a cry of joy. “ Will 
you truly. Father ? ” asked she, delighted. 

“ Is it not our duty to aid those who are 
oppressed ? ” said the Franciscan. 

“ And do you dare to speak to Count 
Raoul ? ” 

The monk smiled. “ Count Raoul is only 
a man,” said he, “ and we all dare to address 
God. Show me the way, my child, and be 
quick, too ; for justice at the castle is hasty, 
and we may be too late.” 

Catherine shuddered at the thought. She 
began to run towards the castle, followed by the 
monk, who could hardly keep pace with her. 

They soon came in sight of it. The young 
girl raised her eyes in terror to the gallows 
which surmounted the principal tower; but 
she saw there only the skeletons of two rob- 
bers, hung, the year before, by order of the 
Count. Her heart beat more tranquilly, and 
she continued on her way, at a slower pace. 


100 


THE SERF, 


The castle of Eille had been recently built, 
and nothing which was then known of the art 
of defence had been neglected by the master- 
builder who was its* architect. It had three 
enclosures, furnished with towers, battlements, 
and machicolations, and each surrounded by 
a wall, with a drawbridge. In the centre of 
the inner one rose the donjon, defended also by 
a moat, and by a portcullis always drawn up. 

Here were kept the archives, arms, and treas- 
ure. Around the same court-yard were the 
cisterns, the stables and cellars, and the apart- 
ments of the Count. Beneath were the sub- 
terranean passages, the entrance to which was 
known only to him, and which, extending to 
the forest, allowed the garrison, in case of 
siege, to escape without being observed. 

Catherine left Father Ambrose at the first 
enclosure, begged him once more not to 
neglect anything to save Jehan, and then 
seated herself by the side of the wall, to 
await his return. 

The monk was first introduced into the 
court of honor, where the squires and pages 
were practising fencing and horsemanship. 


THE SERF. 


101 


He was next led through the apartments of 
Count Raoul. 

The luxury of the interior corresponded 
well with the elegance and solidity of the 
exterior. The floors were formed of different- 
colored stones, whose settings of lead and 
cast-iron formed a variety of rich arabesques. 
The beams, ornamented with tin, sustained 
at intervals arms or exotic animals, skilfully 
preserved. The windows of painted glass 
represented the history of Count Raoul’s an- 
cestors, and the building of the castle. 

The furniture was composed wholly of oak, 
admirably carved, and black as ebony ; the halls 
were hung with Arras tapestry, and adorned 
through their whole extent with red chests, 
great benches covered with flowing drapery, 
or immense beds, twelve feet wide. Here and 
there, as proofs of wealth, were hung mirrors 
of glass or metal, a foot in diamter. 

In crossing the hall of the pages. Father 
Ambrose admired a clock, the hands of which 
marked the minutes and hours. 

He was conducted to the dining-hall, where 
the Count then was. It was a long gallery, 
9 ^ 


102 


THE SERF. 


supported on two sides by oaken pillars, inlaid 
2 

with copper and Jin.; a table, surrounded by 
a balustrade, ran the whole length of the room, 
and in the centre rose a tower of woodwork, 
upon which was placed a torch, intended to 
light the entire apartment. At the lower end 
was the sideboard, loaded with silver pitchers 
and drinking-cups, and at the side were tables, 
on which were dishes of meat, seasoned with 
sage, lavender, and fennel, piles of nine-ounce 
loaves, flavored with anise, and flagons of 
wine drawn from the top of the cask. At the 
upper end of the hall a band of musicians 
were playing a symphony, in which could be 
distinguished, by turns, the trumpet, the flute, 
the pipe, the lute, and the rebeck. 

The guests, numbering nearly a hundred, 
were seated according to their rank : the first 
had before them deep dishes of silver-gilt, and 
forks, which were just coming into use. Those 
who were seated lower had only silver dishes, 

. and those still farther down, bowls of tin. ? 

No one noticed Father Ambrose at first. 
The servant who had led him in contented 
himself with showing him a stool, upon which 


THE SERF. 


103 


he sat down, and with giving him a goblet and 
dish. The Franciscan was beginning to eat, 
when Count Raoul noticed him in his corner. 

“ Ah ! by the death of Christ ! here we 
have a monldsh robe,’’ cried he, setting down 
upon the table his golden cup, which he had 
just emptied. “ Ha, Father ! come and sit at 
my table ; and you, fellows, make room for 
his reverence.” 

The guests made room for him, and Father 
Ambrose sat down opposite the Count, whom 
he saluted. 

“ If I am not mistaken,” said Raoul, “ you 
belong to the Franciscans of Tours.” 

“ I am their Father Superior,” replied the 
monk. 

The Count raised his head with more 
respect. 

“ Ah, it is well,” said he, in a gentler tone ; 
“I have always loved your house, reverend 
Father, and I was about to visit you on some 
business. Ho you not allow the laity to wear 
the robe of your order one day in a month ? ” 

“ We do, my lord.” 

“ And in putting on the robe, one has a 


104 


THE SERF. 


right to the indulgences which are granted to 
yourselves.” 

“ Provided that he puts on, at the same 
time, our spirit of love and humility,” replied 
Father Ambrose. “ The monkish robe, worn 
by men of the world, has no other object 
but to bring them back to the piety of the 
cloister. ” 

“ 1 know it,” answered Raoul ; “ but you 
must grant me this favor, holy Father, on the 
condition that you may ask for your convent 
whatever favor you please.” 

“ If I dared, I should instantly ask a favor 
for myself,” said Father Ambrose. 

“ What is it, reverend Father ? ” 

“ Your steward imprisoned, yesterday, the 
son of one of your serfs.” 

“ Yes, he spoke to me of a young scoundrel 
who refused to obey him.” 

“ I have promised to ask that he may be 
pardoned.” 

“ Pardon Jehan ! ” cried Master Moreau ; 
“ do no such thing, my lord ! These people 
are becoming, every day, more difficult to 
manage ; an example is needed, you said so 
yourself.” 


THE SERF. 


105 


“ That is true,” replied the Count ; “ but 
I did not know that Father Ambrose was in- 
terested in this worthless fellow.” 

“ God will do to us as we have done to 
others,” said Ambrose ; “ and he will have 
mercy on those only who have had mercy on 
others.” 

Count Raoul seemed undecided. The 
steward saw that he was wavering, and, fear- 
ing lest he should lose his revenge, he said, 
“ Has your lordship forgotten that this Jehan 
has already been fined for trying to defraud 
you of the oven-tax by baking his bread at 
home, and for sharpening his ploughshare 
without paying the tax ? ” 

“ The scoundrel ! ” exclaimed Raoul. 

“ Besides, he broke the leashes of your lord- 
ship’s hounds, under the pretence that they 
destroyed his oats.” 

“ Is that true ? ” asked the Count quickly. 

“ As for that deer, which was killed without 
our being able to discover by whom ” 

“ Well?” 

“ Your lordship knows the hut of Jehan’s 
father is just on the edge of the forest.” 


106 


THE SERF. 


“ By Heaven ! cried the Count, “ it must 
be that cursed Red-head ! ” 

“ I would swear to it.” 

“ To the gallows with him, then ! ” answered 
the Count. “ Woe to him who touches my 
game ! ” 

As the monk was about to speak, “ Do not 
try to defend him. Father,” he continued, in a 
rage ; “ the rascal shall learn who is master 
here. Get a hempen collar ready for him 
directly, and let no one ever speak to me of 
him again.” 

The Count rose ; all the guests followed his 
example. Father Ambrose hastened to him, 
as he was about to leave the halL You 
will, at least, permit me to see this unhappy 
youth ? ” 

“ As you please,” replied Count Raoul. 
“ Prepare him for his fate ; and do you. Master 
Moreau, see that everything is done, this very 
day. God preserve you, reverend Father ! I 
shall soon visit your convent.” 

He then went out, leaving the monk with 
a man-at-arms, who had orders to lead him to 
Jehan. 


THE SERF. 


107 


CHAPTER III. 

The man-at-arms led the monk to the prin- 
cipal tower of the third inclosure. Having 
reached the lower room, he fastened a rope 
round the monk’s body, put a lantern into his 
hand, and then, raising, with some difficulty, 
one of the large granite flag-stones by its ring, 
he lowered him into the damp and dismal 
dungeon, to the bottom of which Jehan had 
been thrown. This was a sort of well, but a 
few feet wide, which descended to the foun- 
dations of the tower, and received neither air 
nor light. Father Ambrose found the young 
boy crouched down, in blank despair ; at sight 
of the monk, however, he raised his head. 

“ What ! has his lordship returned ? ” he 
asked. 

“ It is he who has sent me to you,” an- 
swered the Franciscan. 

“ To prepare me for my death. Father ? ” 

Ambrose cast down his eyes, without an- 
swering. 


108 


THE SERF. 


“ God’s will be done ! ” said Jehan, with a 
sigh. “ It is all right, since I could not exist 
in bondage. There is something within me 
which rebels against persecution and injustice. 
I am ready, Father, and await your last in- 
structions.” 

“ Repent, then, of thy sins, my son,” said 
the monk, with earnestness.. 

“ Ah ! I do ! I do ! ” cried Jehan, who had 
thrown himself on his knees. “ Listen to my 
confession. Father, and pardon me, in the 
name of God, as I pardon those who are 
about to take my life.” 

The monk sat down upon the ground, and 
Jehan began his confession, acknowledging his 
anger, his hatred, and his desire for revenge. 
In the midst of all its impatience, this soul 
had but one longing, — for freedom ! Father 
^ Ambrose was moved by the energy, at once 
simple and earnest, of this boy, who had 
always preferred resistance and suffering to 
the silent acceptance of his lot of servitude. 

When his confession was ended, the monk 
gave him some advice, and such consolation 
as the time allowed, and finished by pronoun- 


THE SERF. 


109 


cing absolution for his sins. Jehan heard all, 
with sad emotion, then, his thoughts reverting 
to the objects of his affection, he said, — 

“ When you leave me, reverend Father, go, 
I entreat you, to my father and Catherine. 
Prepare them for the blow which is about to 
fall upon them. Do not tell them that I 
desire to live, for I ought not to wish it. But 
I had become accustomed to my sufferings ; 
I forgot them, for a moment, when I saw 
Catherine and my father happy. Alas ! who 
will watch over them henceforth. O Father, 
if God would take, at the same time, all 
those who love each other, then we should 
be glad to die ! ” 

He remained for some time with his head 
resting upon his breast, weeping silently. 
The monk took his hands in his, and pro- 
nounced in a sad voice some words of con- 
solation. 

“ You are right ! you are right ! ” said 
Jehan, mastering his emotion* ‘‘ God knows, 
better than we, what we need ; perhaps for 
me there is no other way to liberty. Mors 
quce liber at hahetur libertas^'* 

10 


110 


THE SERF. 


Father Ambrose seemed surprised. “ Do 
you speak Latin ? ” asked he. 

Yes, — to my sorrow,” answered Jehan. 
He then related how he had incurred Mas- 
ter Moreau’s hatred by imprudently correct- 
ing his blunders, at which the monk could 
not help smiling. 

‘‘ As a general rule, my son,” said he, “ re- 
member that there are two things, besides sin, 
which we must carefully guard against, — to 
^ prove to a man in authority his ignorance, 
^ and to claim our rights from a superior.” 

“ Alas ! ” said Jehan, ‘‘ I have discovered 
this too late ; yet I suspect that Master Mo- 
reau has acted more from fear than malice.” 

“ Why so?” 

‘‘ He thought that I might betray his rob- 
beries to the Count.” 

“ What do you say, Jehan ? ” interrupted 
the monk. ‘‘ Remember that no one should 
be suspected, lightly.” 

But if they are not suspicions, but 
proofs ? ” 

Is it possible ? ” 

‘‘ I have seen Master Moreau collect the 


THE SERF. 


Ill 


taxes, followed by the wagon which carried 
the tablets used for the accounts of the cas- 
tle ; * and if he received three bundles of 
hemp, he never recorded more than two ; if he 
took six fowls, he always forgot one, at least.” 

How was it with the taxes paid in 
money ? ” 

‘‘ I have seen him unfold his rolls of parch- 
ment, which are more than a hundred feet 
long, for the Count’s estate is the most exten- 
sive in the country, and he always wrote 
down a sum less than the amount received.” 

“Jehan! Jehan! Beware of rash judg- 
ments ! ” 

‘‘ What I have said can easily be proved. 
Father. It is only necessary to appeal to the 
peasants, with their tablets of receipts.” 

‘‘ Then you are quite sure that Master Mo- 
reau cheats his lordship .? ” 


* In the Middle Ages, many tax-gatherers kept their ac- 
counts as the bakers in the small towns do at the present 
day. They had, for each contributor, two small boards, or 
tablets, upon the edge of which they marked the amount of 
payments received, by notches. One of these tablets was kept 
by the payer, as a receipt, the other by the tax-gatherer, as his 
record of accounts. 


112 


THE SERF. 


As sure as that I am to appear before 
God this day ! ” 

“ It may be true,” said Father Ambrose, to 
whom the disclosures of the young serf seemed 
to have given an unexpected hope. ‘‘ I leave 
you now, my son, but I will not abandon you. 
You will see me again, — I hope.” 

‘‘ At the foot of the gallows. Father ? ” 

“ There, or elsewhere. Pray, and do not 
despair. God can do what he wills.” 

Saying these words, the monk pulled the 
rojDe, the end of which remained in the hand 
of the man-at-arms, and felt himself raised up. 
He soon rejoined his guide, whom he or- 
dered to conduct him to the steward’s house. 

When he entered. Master Moreau was in 
deep consultation with the butler. He cast a 
look of displeasure upon the monk, and asked 
him, coolly, what had brought him there. 

“ I should like to speak with you. Master 
Moreau,” answered Father Ambrose, not at 
all disconcerted. 

“ Excuse me,” replied the steward ; but I 
am busy, now.” 

“ A moment will suffice.” 


THE SERF. 


113 


Very well, then.’^ 

Ambrose looked at the butler, who was 
about to withdraw. 

“ Stop ! stop ! ” said Moreau. “ It is no 
secret, I suppose ? ” 

“ Not at all,” answered the Franciscan ; 
“ it is a service to be rendered to the Count.” 

“ Why do you address yourself to me, 
then ? ” 

“ Because the matter is in your depart- 
ment.” 

“ What is it, then ? ” 

“ It concerns the payment of the taxes.” 

“ Ah ! ” cried Master Moreau, who grew 
more attentive. 

“ Jehan has communicated some partic- 
ulars to me ” 

“ Leave us, Bidois,” interrupted Moreau, 
quickly dismissing the butler. 

“ And what are these statements ? ” asked 
he, when the butler had gone out. 

“ He declares that the Count’s revenues 
might be increased one third.” 

‘‘ By increasing the taxes? ” 

“ No ; but by diminishing the thefts.” 

10 ^ 


114 


THE SERF. 


Master Moreau started. “ What do you 
mean ? ” stammered he. 

“ I ? Nothing,” replied Father Ambrose. 
“ But this boy seems to know something of 
the business. He says he has proofs.” 

“ Proofs ! ” cried the steward, growing 
pale. 

“ I have promised him to warn his lordship, 
who will no doubt be glad to find proofs of 
— the truth,” continued the monk. 

Moreau made a sign of alarm. 

“ Only,” went on Father Ambrose, “ I 
thought that it was proper to warn you first, 
as these matters are in your province.” 

“ I thank you for doing so,” said the 
steward, in an anxious tone ; “ I thank you, 
reverend Father ; but this Jehan has deceived 
you. It is impossible that he can have any 
proofs.” 

“ I do not know about that. At any rate, 
I am going to report it all to the Count.” 

“ That is useless,” interrupted Moreau, 
quickly ; that is entirely useless.” 

“ I promised Jehan I would do it.” 

“ Jehan only wishes to gain time.” 


THE SERF. 


115 


“ Who knows but he may have some useful 
information to give? And in that case, no 
doubt his lordship will grant his pardon.” 

“ Is that what you wish, reverend Father ? 
I will undertake to obtain it.” 

“ You?” 

“ Yes. I have come to the conclusion that, 
after all, I have been a little too hasty in this 
business. We must overlook something in a 
child; for Jehan is hardly more than a child. 
I was thinking of speaking to the Count, to 
appease his anger, if possible.” 

Go to him at once, then,” answered 
Father Ambrose, who, no longer doubting the 
charges made by Jehan, knew that the stew- 
ard was in his power. “ I will await your 
return here.” 

“ Very well ! ” said Moreau, rising. “ I will 
endeavor to obtain his pardon.” 

“ Make every possible effort, master ; for if 
the Count refuses, it will be necessary for me 
to make known Jehan’s disclosures, as a last 
resource.” 

“ You will have no need to do that. Father, 
I am sure of it. The Count wants money. 


116 


THE SERF. 


and I alone can procure it for him ; at such 
a time I can get anything out of him. Not 
a word about what Jehan has told you, 
Father, and I will return, directly, with his 
pardon.” 

Saying this. Master Moreau went out, leav- 
ing Father Ambrose amazed at the change 
which had just been effected in him. He was 
gone nearly an hour, and finally returned, 
looking much excited, and his brow covered 
with perspiration. 

“ Jehan is safe,” said he, entering ; “ but it 
has not been accomplished without difficulty. 
The Count had set his heart on seeing him 
hanged, and did not wish to give it up. Yet 
he yielded, at last. As he fears, however, that 
this indulgence may prove a bad precedent, 
he wishes the boy to leave this part of the 
country.” 

“ Whither does he send him ? ” asked the 
Franciscan. 

“To one of his old serfs, who has been re- 
cently freed, and is now a citizen of Tours, — 
Master Laurent.” 

“ The draper ? ” 


THE SERF. 


117 


“ The same. He had promised him a clerk, 
selected from his peasantry ; and no one could 
be better fitted than Jehan, who has already 
learned to write.” 

“ And who understands figures well enough 
to recognize the intentional errors of an ac- 
count,” continued Father Ambrose. “ You 
are right, master ; I think that the removal 
of Jehan will be best for all concerned. I see 
no objection to the plan. By serving Master 
Laurent now, he may be able to buy his own 
freedom some time, and become a merchant 
like him. I must go to tell him this news.” 

I have already sent him word, and he will 
be now expecting you in the court of honor.” 

“ I will go there to find him,” said the 
Franciscan, taking up his staff. “ Thank the 
Count, in my name. Master Moreau ; and 
henceforth take my advice, and be less harsh 
towards his lordship’s serfs, and more exact 
in your accounts. 


118 


THE SERF. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Jehan did not leave his father and Cath- 
erine without much regret ; but the hope of 
being in a situation which might, some day, 
insure his freedom, softened the bitterness of 
this separation. He tore himself manfully 
from their embraces, and took the road to- 
wards Tours. 

Until then, he had never left his own vil- 
lage, and everything which met his eyes along 
the road was new to him ; but the change 
was still more marked when he reached the 
suburbs of the town. 

He met first a long procession of children 
coming out from the city. A mercer whom 
he accosted told him that they were the 
scholars whom their masters were taking out 
to ride, as was the custom on St. Nicholas’s 
day. A little farther on, he saw two mad- 
men, known by their shaved heads, who were 
chained, as a sort of living sign, at the door of 


THE SERF. 


119 


a physician who undertook to cure insanity. 
He met also gentlemen passing by who car- 
ried on their wrists hawks or falcons, while 
the citizens carried, in imitation, blackbirds 
or paroquets. The very costumes were differ- 
ent from what he was accustomed to see. 
They wore peaked shoes, the points of which, 
turned back, came as high as the knee ; cloth 
caps, furred with marten or miniver, and 
party-colored coats. Some lords', more ele- 
gant than the rest, wore two swords, one on 
the right side and the other on the left. 

At length, Jehan reached Master Laurent’s 
shop, though not without difficulty. It was 
only a booth, built for the occasion, of poplar 
boards, erected in a field ; for the great fair of 
Tours was about to open. 

Master Laurent was a small man, with 
pleasant manners, but cunning, as the proverb 
says, as three Manxmen and a Norman, He 
led Jehan first into the back shop, and set 
before him a flagon of new wine, a loaf of 
rye-bread, and the remains of a piece of beef ; 
and then asked him his story. 

Jehan told him candidly all his concerns, not 


120 


THE SERF. 


forgetting the late affair which had brought 
him to Tours. Laurent listened to him, ut- 
tering frequent exclamations, taking off his 
cap and replacing it, and laughing contin- 
ually at nothing. 

When Jehan had concluded, he said : “ Very 
well ! I see how it is, Jehan ; you are a he- 
ro ! Ha, ha, ha ! That is n’t bad, my boy I 
You shall thrash my neighbors’ apprentices, 
now and tfien, when they are saucy. I will 
pretend to know nothing about it. Ha, ha, 
ha ! Only take good care not to be made 
a dupe of, or to break the rules of the fair. 
Rules must be sacred things for us merchants, 
particularly as we can’t infringe them with- 
out paying a fine. Ha, ha, ha ! I have writ- 
ten down a book of rules for the use of my 
clerks. You must learn them by heart.” 

Saying this. Master Laurent opened a 
drawer, from which he took .a manuscript 
which had been well thumbed, judging by the 
edges of the soiled and tattered leaves. Jehan 
found it a sort of mercantile catechism, in 
which the draper had collected the principal 
instructions necessary to his profession. 


THE SERF. 


121 


He saw that at each fair were inspectors 
of merchandise, weights, and money ; a tribu- 
nal composed of upright men, who settled, 
on the spot, all disputes ; and a great number 
of special notaries, whose duty it was to 
write out the transactions of bargain and sale. 
These transactions had certain privileges pe- 
culiar to the fair at which they were concluded. 
Finally, there were sergeants, assisted by some 
hundred guards, whose duty it was to keep 
the peace and to arrest thieves. 

Jehan learned, moreover, that money could 
not be lent, even in trade, at a higher rate 
than fifteen per cent; and that a merchant 
who enticed away a purchaser, who was far- 
ther from his shop than from that of a neigh- 
bor, was liable to a fine. 

Next came instructions concerning the dif- 
ferent kinds of cloth, the means of displaying 
them to advantage, and the prices at which 
they must be sold. When he had read this, 
Jehan asked if that were all. 

“ That is all that can be written down, my . 
boy,” answered Master Laurent ; “ but, besides 
all this, there is the cream of the trade. He, 
11 


122 


THE SERF. 


he, he ! It is not enough to have musicians 
and buffoons to attract custom, as we all have; 
it is necessary for the clerks to know how to cry 
up their goods, to substitute, in case of need, 
a light cloth for a heavy one, and to count in 
the selvage in measuring ! Ha, ha, ha ! ” 

“But these are base deceptions,” objected 
Jehan. 

Master Laurent shrugged his shoulders. 
“ When we eat with the pigs, we must feed 
out of the trough,” said he. “ Do you think 
that anybody would be more scrupulous in 
regard to us? We have debtors who, after 
having clothed themselves on credit, have 
taken refuge in a church, where we have no 
right even to seize their goods. Some, after 
we have made out our bills, give them into 
the hands of powerful men, who threaten us 
with all sorts of harsh treatment if we do not 
consent to make a reduction of a third or a 
half. I say nothing about those rascals who 
hang out the flag of a bankrupt and run off 
with our money.” 

“ But can you not obtain justice, then ? ” 

“ Justice is always against us, my boy ; be- 


THE SERF. 


123 


cause the judges are mostly nobles, and the 
nobility are the natural enemies of the burgh- 
er. Ha, ha, ha I The serfs complain, but they 
are less persecuted than we. The lord treats 
them as something belonging to himself, while 
he treats us as if we were escaped prisoners. 
It seems as if he thought that our inde- 
pendence was a theft committed against his 
authority. Besides, Heaven knows what re- 
fusals of justice, what breaches of faith, what 
taxes and fines, we have to suffer. The most 
honorable gentlemen consider the gold that 
they can wring from the citizens as only a 
restitution of their own property.’’ 

But, at any rate, you are free.” 

‘‘ Yes ; on condition that we submit to the 
laws of our corporation and the regulations 
of the commune, and that we obey the com- 
mands of the lord whose vassals we are. Our 
liberty, you see, is like that of the soldier, who 
must keep the ranks, carry his arms in a par- 
ticular manner, and obey all his officers.” 

“ Ah ! you are right, master ; the only true 
liberty is when there is but one law for all, 
and a law which forbids only that which is 
an injury to the greatest number.” 


124 


THE SERF. 


“ Besides, we are obliged to deceive,” re- 
plied Laurent. “ Not being able to go straight 
forward, we wind about among the rules and 
privileges. We conceal our money, keeping 
in the background when these gentlemen 
have no need of us, in order to display it and 
become exacting when they must have it. 
Ha, ha, ha. Work away, Jehan ! work away, 
without thinking of fatigue, and some day 
you will help us to carry on this covert war 
against the nobility. In ten years, if you 
wish it, you may become one of us.” 

Jehan made no reply, but bent his head, sad- 
ly. What he had longed for was not this con- 
stoined, sullen, and contested independence 
of Master Laurent: it was the full and free 
exercise of his faculties. The pretended free- 
dom of the draper was as repugnant to him 
as his morality ; and he saw, at once, that he 
was not born to be a merchant. 

Nevertheless, the aspect of the great fair 
which had just been opened at Tours at first 
excited in him a sort of admiration. Inter- 
course was still, at this period, too difficult 
and too irregular to allow commerce to have 


THE SERF. 


125 


acquired any stability. The towns had not 
that variety of merchants that we now see ; 
the custom of peddling, now in use only in 
the small villages, was then general. The 
great centres of population were provided 
with even the chief articles of necessity only 
at stated times, when the merchants assem- 
bled there. 

These fairs, transforming the towns in 
which they were held into the true centres of 
commerce, were favored by the municipalities, 
which made the greatest sacrifices in order to 
attract the traders. Some went so far as to 
station armed troops upon the roads, to give 
aid and protection to the merchants against 
the highwaymen and marauders, then very 
common. The fair at Tours, without being 
one of the most important in France, was, 
notwithstanding, one which attracted a con- 
siderable number of foreign merchants. Here 
were shops, ornamented with flags, and full of 
mountebanks, whose feats attracted the curi- 
ous. Here were to be found the tapestry- 
weavers from Arras ; the drapers of Sedan ; 
the confectioners from Verdun, making sweet- 
11 * 


126 


THE SERF, 


meats of honey for the citizens, and of sugar 
for the nobility ; the glovers from Orleans, 
selling the celebrated gauntlets intended for 
carrying the hawk, made of chamois-skin, 
embroidered, or trimmed with marten, at the 
price of nine livres, that is to say, as much as 
twelve dozen busheLs of wheat. Here were 
to be seen Italians selling the beautiful arms 
of Milan, and Germans offering the ill-con- 
structed armor of their country. Then came 
the apothecaries, selling for its weight in gold 
the juice of the sugar-cane, and brandy ; the 
shoemakers, with their thousand various kinds 
of leather shoes, from Montpellier ; the book- 
sellers, with their manuscripts, enriched with 
paintings, covered with velvet, silver-gilt, and 
precious stones, one alone of which would 
often cost a thousand livres; weavers from 
the South, displaying their rich silks embroid- 
ered with silver, gold, or pearls ; goldsmiths, 
whose counters glittered with cups, goblets, 
and chased dishes ; finally, in the lower 
ranks, were seen the pewterers, the fowlers, 
the dog-sellers, the spice-dealers; and still 
lower, quite apart from the rest, were the 


THE SERF. 


127 


Jews, easily recognized by their yellow caps, 
displaying nothing, but trafficking in every- 
thing and getting more profit than all the 
rest. 

Jehan examined these wonders and riches 
with curiosity ; but when the first feeling of 
surprise was over, he felt his disgust return at 
the deceptions which he saw the merchants 
practise, and the degradation to which they 
were condemned. 

Father Ambrose, in leaving him, had asked 
him to come to see him, at his convent. 
Jehan now remembered this, and, profiting 
by his first free Sunday, he went and rang at 
the gate of the Franciscan convent. 


128 


THE SERF. 


CHAPTER V. 

Father Ambrose received the young serf 
with the gentle and affectionate kindness 
which the habit of consoling the afflicted 
gives. He led him first to the refectory, 
where he made him sit down in the midst of 
the novices, who were just taking their places 
at the table; when the repast was over, he 
showed him the whole monastery. 

Jehan visited, in succession, the gardens, 
cultivated by the monks themselves, whose 
fruit was celebrated as the best in the coun- 
try ; the cloisters, where the friars walked, 
their hands wrapped in their large sleeves, 
and their heads bent, meditating upon God 
and the salvation of mankind; the chapel, 
where their souls were mingled in the trans- 
ports of prayer ; and their cells, adorned with 
a simple crucifix, the symbol of devotion and 
of salvation. 

The Father Superior next conducted Jehan 


THE SERF. 


129 


to the library, where he was filled with de- 
light. The manuscripts, ranged in order, and 
neatly bound, numbered several hundreds. 
Ambrose informed the young serf that they 
were the property of the convent. They were 
about to visit the halls for study, when some 
one came to tell the Father Superior that a 
person desired to see him. It was a man, 
whose face was concealed, who came to con- 
sult Father Ambrose on a point of con- 
science. 

Jehan descended, alone, to the convent 
yard, where he found the novices. One of 
them recognized him, and called him by 
name ; it was the son of one of his father’s 
neighbors. The young serf told him his story, 
and how he came to be at Tours. 

“Ah, Jehan! why do you not come into 
our convent ? ” said the novice, when he had 
finished. “ Here we are apart from the world, 
and protected from its iniquities; here there 
are neither nobles nor serfs ; we enjoy liberty 
and equality before God. Our Father Supe- 
rior himself owes his authority only to the 
choice of the other monks, who freely recog- 


130 


THE SERF. 


nize his superiority in virtue and experience. 
It is the kingdom of Heaven brought down 
to earth. Our lives are passed in useful la- 
bors, good works, and prayer. The nobility, 
to whom everything upon the earth is sub- 
ject, are without power over us ; if they in- 
fringe upon our rights, we can retaliate upon 
them by excommunication from the society 
of Christians ; if they attack us, the fortifica- 
tions of our convent render defence easy.” 

“ True,” said Jehan ; “ but this liberty you 
purchase with the sacrifice of the greatest 
happiness that man can know upon earth 
You see neither your sisters nor your moth- 
ers ; you can neither choose a wife, nor cradle 
an infant in your arms. Ah ! I cannot accept 
a freedom which would separate me for ever 
from Catherine.” 

“Return, then, to the world, Jehan,” said 
the novice. “ You will soon learn that the 
more ties you form in it, the more you expose 
yourself to trouble. Those who, like us, are 
born serfs, cannot choose their means of en- 
franchisement ; if they wish to give freedom 
to their souls, they must make the sacrifice of 


THE SERF. 


131 


their earthly instincts. The monastery is the 
first step towards laying aside the earthly gar- 
ment, — a sort of initiation into the life eter- 
nal!” 

Jehan returned to Master Laurent’s house, 
uncertain and thoughtful. In spite of the 
young novice’s words, a cloister life could not 
completely satisfy his desires ; he was at the 
age when we deal not with realities, when all 
dreams seem possible ; and experience had not 
yet taught him that every living thing must 
submit to the laws of the society of which he 
forms a part. 

But if he could not accustom himself to 
the life of a convent, that which he was lead- 
ing was still more distasteful to him. It was 
not long before the draper perceived that his 
apprentice showed but little inclination for 
business. Besides, Jehan could not consent 
to employ the usual artifices. He sold as if 
he were at the confessional, saying, ‘‘ This is 
good, that indifferent, this bad.” Master 
Laurent was sometimes filled with rage, 
which expressed itself in vehement reproach- 
es. At length, one day when Jehan had 


132 


THE SERF. 


exchanged old money for new, (the new coin 
was worth less than the old,) the draper was 
so enraged that he struck him. The young 
man’s determination was taken from that 
moment. He left the shop, hastened to the 
Loire, and, seeing a large vessel which was 
passing by, plunged into the river and swam 
towards it. The sailors received him kindly, 
and consented to take him as far as Blois, 
to which place they were bound. 

Their vessel was carrying to that city can- 
non and culverins, formed of several pieces 
joined together and hooped, like the staves of 
a cask, according to the fashion of the time. 
It was the first time Jehan had seen these 
arms, which had recently come into use, and 
he was greatly astonished by them. The 
master of the boat told him that the king 
had twelve cannon much larger than these, 
which he called the twelve peers. They 
were twenty-four feet long and no less than 
thirty oxen were required to draw a single 
piece. He also informed him that others 
were made, much smaller, which were used 
by resting them upon the shoulder of a 


THE SERF. 


133 


soldier, while another man behind aimed the 
piece. 

When they reached Blois, Jehan took leave 
of the sailors, and turned his steps towards 
Paris ; but his small stock of money was soon 
exhausted, and he was obliged to have re- 
course to the charity of those whom he met 
by the way. 

As he was passing through the suburbs of 
Orleans, he saw a funeral procession, which 
was just issuing from a rich mansion. The 
coffin was borne by the poor of the town, and 
surmounted by a wax image. Directly be- 
hind walked an actor, wearing the dress of 
the deceased, whose manner, gestures, and 
gait he imitated so wonderfully, that the fam- 
ily and friends who followed could not refrain 
from tears. Jehan, having heard that the 
deceased had ordered sixpence to be given to 
every poor person who should present himself 
on the day of his interment, went at once to 
receive his portion of the legacy. 

He then continued his journey towards 
Paris. One evening he reached the summit 
of a hill, from which the eye could distinguish 
12 


134 


THE SERF. 


nothing but wild heaths and forests, without 
a village in sight. Jehan was beginning to 
feel uneasy at the prospect of passing the 
night in the open air, when he saw, behind a 
grove of wild apple-trees, a light column of 
smoke. He went towards it, and found a 
cabin, surmounted by a small belfry. The 
door was open, and he saw no one in the hut ; 
but night was coming on, and the wind was 
keen, and Jehan determined to await the re- 
turn of the occupant. 

He soon entered, singing. He carried, 
hung around his neck, a small keg, the spigot 
of which, judging from his gayety, he had 
often turned. When he saw Jehan, he burst 
into a loud fit of laughter. 

“ Mercy on us ! ” cried he. What stran- 
ger is this, who comes to seek shelter in my 
palace ? ” 

Jehan told him how he had entered it. 

“ Did not you recognize the place ? ” asked 
the man with the keg. 

“ Not at all,” answered Jehan. 

And you do not know where you are ? ” 

“ Why ? Where am I ? ” 


THE SERF. 


135 


The new-comer made no reply, but re- 
moved the goat-skin in which he was wrap- 
ped, and displayed a doublet, at the belt of 
which hung a rattle and cup. 

‘‘ A leper ! ” cried the young man, springing 
up with a bound. 

“ It is not my fault that you came in here,’’ 
answered the man, laughing. 

“ I must go,” said Jehan, who had already 
reached the door. “ Only tell me if I am far 
from any village ? ” 

“ Three leagues ; and you will have to go 
through a forest, where you will certainly be 
murdered ! ” 

“ No matter,” said the young serf ; “ I can- 
not stay here.” 

“ Why not ? Are you afraid of the scales 
which cover my face, and the disease which 
gnaws my arms? We can dispense with 
these attractions for one evening.” And tak- 
ing up a cloth, he rubbed off the hideous 
marks with which he was covered. 

Jehan could not restrain an exclamation of 
surprise. 

“ My leprosy is easily cured, as you see,” 


136 


THE SERF. 


said the pretended leper, laughing. “ To-mor- 
row I shall restore it, in order to go my rounds 
for alms.” 

And as Jehan still remained upon the 
threshold, “ Come,” said he ; “ don’t you see 
that you have nothing to fear ? Shut that 
door, and take a stool ; I will show you how 
the lepers live who understand their busi- 
ness.” 

With these words, he drew a table before 
the hearth, placed upon it the remains of a 
cooked tongue, some fresh pork, some fruit, 
and his keg, still half full ; then, forcing Jehan 
to sit down opposite to him, he began to eat 
with the appetite of a scholar. 

“ So you are willing to feign a malady 
which separates you for ever from living 
men?” said Jehan, who regarded the false 
leper with astonishment mingled with horror. 

“ Because this disease gives me the means 
of living, while my good health would have 
let me die of hunger,” answered the man. 
“ Such as I am, I have been, by turns, a 
huntsman, a boatman, a laborer, a courier, but 
always a serf; and as a serf, always miserable. 


THE SERF. 


137 


For a short time I had an idea of turning her- 
mit, but I was told that, to be one, it was 
necessary to be a free man. I then decided 
to become a leper, since that is the only way 
to live at your ease and according to your 
fancy. A Parisian beggar taught me to imi- 
tate this disease, with a paste of rye and mil- 
let. I had no difficulty in passing myself off 
for a leper, and the people soon built me this 
hut, on the hill. They gave me a cow, an 
orchard, and a vineyard ; the curate dressed 
me in a winding-sheet, read the burial-service 
over me, threw a shovelful of earth on my 
head, and then they left me, promising to fur- 
nish me, every week, with all I should need ; 
and they have never neglected me.” 

“But you cannot approach your fellow- 
men ? ” 

“ True, I am forbidden to enter any assem- 
bly, to speak to those who are to the leeward 
of me, to drink at a fountain, to pass through 
the streets, to touch children ; I live solitary, 
I inspire disgust and horror ; but do you think 
this too great a price to pay for ease and lib- 
erty ? ” 


12 


138 


THE SERF. 


“ Heaven preserve me from gaining them at 
such a price!” thought Jehan ; “why must we 
live in a world where we have to pay so dear- 
ly for them ? ” 

When the supper was ended, the leper 
spread a goat-skin on the ground, upon which 
Jehan passed the night. The next morning 
he took leave of his host, and continued his 
journey towards Paris. 

As he approached the great city, the travel- 
lers became more numerous; sometimes he 
met a band of men-at-arms, covered with silk, 
plumes, and embroidery; sometimes a troop 
of archers, clothed in leather, wearing head- 
pieces, or helmets without crests, and carrying 
their bows in their hands and their swords 
fastened at their backs ; sometimes he met 
burghers, going to the neighboring towns on 
affairs of business. 

At length Paris appeared, with its great 
dome of smoke, its steeples, its pointed roofs, 
and its ceaseless din and tumult. Several 
days were passed by Jehan in traversing the 
different quarters of the city, and visiting pal- 
aces and churches. At Notre-Dame he read 


THE SERF. 


139 


the chronicle of events attached to the pascal 
taper ; he admired an immense candle, upon 
a wooden pedestal, which might have made 
the circuit of the city, and the bench upon 
which garments for the poor were deposited. 
He afterwards had pointed out to him the 
Hotel des Tournelles, the Hotel St. Paul, and 
the Bastille, all situated near together. He 
next visited the palace where the famous mar- 
ble table was shown, upon which the law- 
students of the Basoche used to represent the 
mysteries. 

But what astonished him most was to see 
the paved streets, bordered on both sides with 
shops where the same trade was carried on ; 
or to wander through the immense halls, 
filled with the merchandise of every land; 
the cattle-folds scattered throughout Paris, 
which seemed to bring, for the time, the coun- 
try into the midst of the palaces ; the mar- 
kets, so distinct and separate that only one 
kind of meat could be sold in each, so that 
pork must be bought at St. Genevieve, mutton 
at St. Marceau, and beef at the Chatelet. 
Then, what a confused noise of horses, car- 


140 


THE SERF. 


riages, voices, instruments ! In the morning, 
trumpets were blown from the top of the 
towers of the Chatelet, to announce the day ; 
at noon came wine-sellers, who went through 
the streets, with napkins upon their arms, 
carrying a large jug in one hand and a cup in 
the other ; at night came the chandlers, the 
biscuit-sellers, and the pastry-cooks. 

How many amusements, every hour, for the 
idle! Here might be seen the citizens of 
Paris practising by thousands the use of the 
bow and crossbow ; there, the scholars play- 
ing games of ball, cricket, or bowls. Some- 
times the choir-children marched through the 
city by torchlight, dressed as bishops ; and 
sometimes pilgrims, with their hats hanging 
round their necks, their shoulders covered 
with scallop-shells, and carrying red staves in 
their hands, traversed the streets of St. Denis, 
singing hymns and relating their adventures 
in the Holy Land. But what interested 
Jehan more than all the rest was the church 
porches, where were placed, before the ser- 
mon, the books from which the texts were 
taken, and the booksellers^ shops, where were 


THE SERF. 


141 


displayed manuscripts that the passers-by 
might read, through the window. 

The taste for study, already awakened in 
Jehan by the lessons which he had received 
from the almoner of Rille, was increased at 
the sight of all the resources which Paris 
offered. Moreover, he felt instinctively that 
education was a means of ennobling thought, 
and consequently a beginning of freedom. 
He therefore resolved to profit by his resi- 
dence in Paris, to attend the lectures of the 
most celebrated masters, and to gain further 
knowledge of the sciences, of which he had as 
yet only learned the rudiments. 

He then wrote to his father, to set him at 
rest about his fate, and to make known to 
him his resolution. A pilgrim, who was go- 
ing to Pille, took charge of this letter ; for at 
that time pilgrims were the safest and most 
common messengers. Without other fortune 
than their staff, their rosary, and a bit of the 
true cross, they had nothing to fear from high- 
waymen, nor from the organized bands of 
robbers, so formidable to other travellers. 


142 


THE SERF. 


CHAPTER VI. 

This is the letter which Jehan wrote to 
his father. 

“ Dear and honored Father : — 

“ You are, no doubt, in much distress con- 
cerning me to-day, particularly if you have 
heard news of my flight from Master Lau- 
rent’s house. It will of course be spoken of 
as a new proof of my wilfulness; but I fled, 
father, only that I might escape a greater 
misfortune. The draper forgot that I was a 
man, bought like himself with the blood of 
Christ, and he wished to treat me as the 
steward did at Rille. I left him at last, that 
I might not lift my hand against the man 
whose bread I had eaten. Do not blame me, 
then. Catherine, who will read this letter to 
you, well knows herself how impossible it is 
for me to endure blows. A blow is for a 
brute, who cannot be made to understand by 


THE SERF. 


143 


any other means; and it reduces a man to 
the level of the brute. For a thinking being 
there should be no other whip than words, no 
other spur than duty. 

“ I am now in Paris ! This one word, 
Paris, tells you much, father ; but it cannot 
express to you the hundredth part of what 
this great city contains. 

“Paris is a city in which the houses are 
packed together lik^ the stones in a quarry, 
— where palaces, cathedrals, and castles are 
sown as thickly as the weeds among your 
corn. It is like two cities, separated by the 
Seine. On one side, all are dressed in black, 
and talk, gesticulate, and study. This is the 
students’ quarter. On the other side are 
brilliant dresses, hoods of all colors, sedans, 
and cavalcades. This is the nobles’ and cit- 
izens’ quarter. Although the city is paved, 
none but the poor go on foot. Merchants 
do their business on horseback, physicians 
go to visit their patients on horseback, and 
even the priests preach on horseback. The 
councillors only go to the palace on mules. 

“ The number of vehicles is immense ; but 


144 


THE SERF. 


they make little noise, and none but those 
which carry provisions are allowed to have 
the wheels bound with iron. 

You can, perhaps, by the aid of your 
imagination, picture to yourself what Paris is 
by day ; but it should be seen at night, with 
its thousand lanterns burning before the 
niches of the saints, its troops of soldiers 
marching through the streets, and the hoarse 
murmur of the Seine ^nder its immense 
bridges. At midnight all the bells ring to- 
gether, the candles are lighted in the church- 
es, the priests hasten thither, the organ 
sounds, and you might fancy you heard the 
song of the angels in heaven ! 

“ All is then quiet till time for matins, when 
the sound of bells is again heard, beadles, 
choristers, and the choir-children assemble, 
and mass begins. The priests enter the cem- 
eteries by torchlight, and pray from tomb to 
tomb for the repose of the dead. At length 
day breaks, and the din of the newly-awa- 
kened city drowns all other sounds. 

“ To-day I saw the king dine. The repast 
consisted of fowls, eggs, pork, and many kinds 


THE SERF. 


145 


of pastry, the names of which I do not know. 
But the dessert was enough to make one’s 
mouth water ; a citizen, who was near me, 
told me the names of all the dishes. There 
were confections of white and red sugar, fla- 
vored with orange, annis, citron, and manu- 
christi. Every time the king took up his 
goblet, a crier shouted, ‘ The king drinks ! ’ 
And all the attendants cried out, ‘ Long live 
the king ! ’ . 

“ The same citizen who had told me the 
names of the dishes of the dessert, informed 
me that the duties of the king’s kitchen gave 
occupation to at least two hundred persons. 
There are the head-cooks, the soup-makers, 
the overseers of roast meat, the carvers, and 
the servants to take charge of the table-linen ; 
then the water-carriers, the turnspits, the fire- 
tenders, and the scullions. At court, they 
serve five meals a day, as they do in some 
private mansions. First the breakfast, then 
a repast at ten o’clock called the decime, the 
second decime, the supper, and finally the 
evening repast, or collation. 

“ But I am forgetting myself in these de- 

13 


146 


THE SERF. 


tails. Why do I tell you of all these things ? 
Ah I why are you not here to see them with 
me ? Why can I not take Catherine to the 
Palais Royal, where all sorts of female apparel 
are sold, or to the Fair of St. Laurence or of 
St. Denis, where the whole plain, on one side, 
is full of books, parchments, and scholars; 
and on the other, of goods, jewelry, and all 
those fine people who live near the Hotel of 
St. Paul! 

“ Poor Catherine ! it will be long, no doubt, 
before I shall see her ; for I have determined 
to pursue my studies here, and, if possible, to 
take my degree. 

“ Whatever happens, I need not tell her to 
think of me. The heart of Catherine never 
forgets. The affections which have ripened 
there will never leave it. Let her, then, still 
continue to love me as I love her. It is for 
her and for you, my father, that I live and 
labor. 

‘‘ Farewell! Think of me in your prayers, 
and be careful not to tell where I am. His 
lordship might have me seized here, and car- 
ried back to his estate, of which I am as 


THE SERF. 


147 


much a part as the very trees which grow 
there. 

“ May God, in his mercy, keep you and 
me! 

“ Jehan.” 


Having written and despatched his letter, 
Jehan felt more calm, and went at once to the 
lecture-rooms where the lessons were given, 
carrying, like the other scholars, his books in 
one hand and a truss of straw in the other, to 
serve as a seat. But when he was about to 
enter, they demanded the certificate from his 
lord, allowing him to attend the lectures of 
the University of Paris. Jehan stopped, con- 
fused, and unable to speak. 

“ No serf can enter the schools without the 
permission of his master,” said the officer 
whose duty it was to register the names of 
the students. 

“ Then it is not enough that they must rule 
over our bodies,” murmured Jehan ; “ they 
must also control our minds.” And he with- 
drew, his heart filled with bitterness. 

A longer stay at Paris would be useless to 


148 


THE SERF. 


him. He was already deliberating whether 
he had not better return to his own village, let 
what might happen, when, one evening, the 
gates of the city were closed, in great haste ; 
all the lights which were burning in the streets 
and near the niches of the saints were extin- 
guished, and the inhabitants were ordered to 
keep a bucket of water and a lighted candle 
at every door. The English had descended 
the Seine, and were advancing to attack 
Paris. 

In the morning, the fires of their outposts 
were seen, and soon the main body of their 
army appeared and encamped on both banks 
of the river. In the mean time, all the sol- 
diers in the city had armed themselves, and 
even the citizens gathered for the defence, 
with loud shouts. They carried to the ram- 
parts stones to throw down upon the assail- 
ants, and sacks of earth to form a shelter from 
their arrows. 

By degrees, the first feeling of terror gave 
place to confidence, and then to defiance. 
They declared that they would anticipate the 
enemy by attacking them in their own camp. 


THE SERF. 


149 


All the men-at-arms were collected ; the most 
courageous of the citizens joined them, and 
one of the gates was opened that this band 
might march against the English. Jehan, 
who had found a halberd, which had been 
dropped in the confusion, followed the troops. 

They soon appeared before the enemy, who 
had seen them, and were prepared to give 
them a warm reception. The English arch- 
ers advanced first against the body of citizens, 
who marched a little in advance ; but, con- 
trary to all expectation, the latter held their 
ground, and although a great number of them 
fell, they still continued to approach the camp. 
The men-at-arms, seeing this, would not ap- 
pear less bold, and charged, at full speed, 
upon the enemy. But, either because they 
had miscalculated the distance, or because 
they made little account of the common peo- 
ple, as at Poitiers, they encountered part of 
the body of citizens, whom they threw back 
upon the archers. Great confusion followed, 
of which the archers took advantage, and 
which was much increased by the arrival of 
the English cavalry. 

13 * 


150 


THE SERF. 


The men-at-arms, who had evidently per- 
illed the success of the attack by their stupid- 
ity, or jealousy, were obliged to make amends 
for their mistake by a display of gallantry. 

Drawn into the fight, Jehan had been sever- 
al times thrown down, and each time he rose 
more eager for the fight. He had just escaped 
from the arrow of an archer, when he found 
himself opposed to an English horseman, who 
raised his sword to strike him ; the young serf, 
however, gave him no time, but plunged his 
halberd through the coat of mail of his adver- 
sary. The horseman fell, and Jehan, seizing 
his sword, snatched his horse’s bridle, leaped 
into the saddle, and rushed again into the 
fight. 

Until then, the result had remained doubt- 
ful, but the arrival of a new troop from the 
town decided the rout of the English. Jehan 
pursued them for a time with those of the 
men-at-arms who had not lost their horses. 
But night was coming on, and, finding him- 
self almost alone, he turned his horse’s head 
towards Paris. 

He was riding quickly across the fields, 


THE SERF. 


151 


when the sound of stifled groans struck his 
ear. He alighted at once, and, going towards 
the place from which the groans seemed to 
come, found a knight stretched motionless 
upon the ground. Jehan raised him with 
some difficulty, unbuckled his armor, and 
succeeded in restoring him to consciousness. 

The knight then told him, that, having 
pushed on in pursuit of the enemy, although 
wounded, his strength had failed him on the 
road, and he had fainted. Believing Jehan to 
be a man-at-arms, he entreated him to give 
him his horse, telling him what house he in- 
habited in Paris, and offering to leave him his 
golden spur as a pledge. Jehan refused the 
pledge, but gave up the horse, saying that he 
would come to reclaim him, and the knight 
departed. 

The trial which the young serf had just 
made showed him that he did not want cour- 
age, and success had left him in a state of 
proud excitement, which was as delightful as 
it was novel. He enjoyed the sort of equal- 
ity which a battle establishes between the 
combatants; the fearful liberty allowed to 


152 


THE SERF. 


each ; the successive emotions of terror, of 
joy, and of pride. In a state of society, too, 
where might had always right on its side, 
must not the life of a soldier be the most 
independent and the most desirable ? These 
ideas filled his mind all night. 

The next morning, when he presented him- 
self at the knight’s mansion, he asked what 
Jehan desired as a reward for the service that 
he had rendered him. 

“ I wish to take rank among the king’s sol- 
diers,” answered Jehan. 

“ Are you a serf or a free man ? ” asked the 
knight. 

“ A serf, my lord.” 

“Then the thing is impossible; the serf 
owes his blood to his lord, and cannot dispose 
of it, without the consent of his master.” 

“For ever,” thought Jehan, leaving the 
knight, — “ for ever the same obstacle ! It is 
impossible to escape from this vice of birth, 
which marks my brow like Cain’s. O, it is 
too much to bear! I must break this chain 
at all hazards ! ” 

That very night he left Paris, mounted on 


THE SERF. 


153 


his horse. He first passed through the forest 
of Bondi, filled with charcoal-burners and 
wood-cutters. As he was leaving the wood, 
he met a number of persons, led by a priest, 
who were travelling in two vehicles drawn by 
asses. They were the Brethren of the Pas- 
sion, who were going through France, play- 
ing the Mysteries. Jehan entered into con- 
versation with the priest, to whom he related 
some of his troubles. 

The priest, who had cast an envious eye 
upon the young man’s horse and equipments, 
immediately proposed to him to join then- 
troop. The part of Mortal Sin, in the pas- 
toral play called “ The End of the Just and 
the Unjust,” needed a representative. He 
assured Jehan that the Brothers of the Pas- 
sion, besides doing a work acceptable to God 
in playing these Mysteries, lived in a state of 
freedom and comfort which no other profes- 
sion could give. 

Jehan was persuaded to join them. He 
took a place in one of the carriages, to which 
he allowed them to harness his horse, and con- 
tinued his journey with Master Chouard. 


154 


THE SERF. 


Unfortunately, the promises of Master 
Chouard were like his plays, — sonitus et 
vacuwm^ sed prceterea nihiL It was not long 
before Jehan perceived the well-merited con- 
tempt with which they were everywhere 
treated. 

At this period, the desire for change and 
adventure had set afloat all those persons to 
whom the rigors of the feudal system had 
become insupportable. It was this cause 
which set on foot the numerous companies 
of partisan soldiers which filled France, the 
bands of pilgrims who were to be met on 
every road, and, finally, the troops of come- 
dians, who, under different names, were begin- 
ning to visit even the smallest towns in the 
kingdom. The troop which Master Chouard 
directed was a medley of needy clerks, run- 
away students, and bankrupts flying from jus- 
tice, who would as soon have joined a band 
of robbers as any other. He himself had un- 
dertaken the direction of the company, only 
that he might more easily indulge in all the 
liberty which the gypsy life they led allowed. 

At the end of the month, the small amount 


THE SERF. 


155 


of their receipts, the expenses on the road, 
and their dissipations, had exhausted all the 
resources of the company. Their carriages 
and horses were seized by an inn-keeper of 
Troyes to pay for what they owed him. Our 
hero in vain tried to reclaim his horse, upon 
the ground that he did not belong to the 
troop ; but the inn-keeper would not listen to 
him. 

Jehan then appealed to Master Chouard, 
threatening to bring him up before the judge. 
But Chouard gave him to understand that, if 
he went to that extreme, he would be com- 
pelled to tell his name, his station, and his 
country, and that he would be carried back 
to Rille, as a serf who had fled from his 
lord’s estate. Jehan felt that he was right, 
and kept silence. 

Fortunately, that same day, a traveller who 
was staying at the inn, and had seen the dif- 
ficulty he was in, came to seek Jehan. “ I 
am a bookseller,” said he, “ and I keep more 
than fifty copyists at work on my books ; for, 
in spite of the new art lately brought from 
Germany, people of rank, and those about 


156 


THE SERF. 


the court, always prefer a manuscript to a 
printed copy. Besides, they still need scribes 
for the capital letters and the heads of chap- 
ters. 1 know that you handle the pen with 
skill, for I have seen the placards of your 
plays. Come with me, and you shall have 
the same wages as your companions, that is, 
enough to live like a Christian. Think of it, 
and to-morrow let me know your decision.” 

The next day Jehan followed his new mas- 
ter on the road to Besancon. 


THE SERF. 


157 


CHAPTER VII. 

More than a year after the events described 
in the preceding chapter, Lord Raoul was 
standing in the great hall of the castle, listen- 
ing impatiently to the reading of a deed, on 
parchment, by Master Moreau. 

“ In short,” said he, suddenly interrupting 
him, “ the sale is concluded, is it not ? ” 

‘‘ It is, my lord.” 

“ And I give up to the Duke of Vaujour 
one of the finest portions of my estate, with 
all the serfs who belong upon it ? ” 

“ His agents are coming to-day to take pos- 
session of it ; and many of the families are 
already collected in the court-yard.” 

“ I do not wish to see them,” said Raoul ; 
“ their lamentations make me unhappy. Poor 
people ! I give them up to a ferocious beast, 
for the Duke is not a man. But this expedi- 
tion to the Holy Land has ruined our family ; 
I have sold all that I could sell, before I 
14 


158 


THE SERF. 


touched my estate, and at last I have been 
compelled to do that. But for God’s sake let 
us think no more about it ! Only take care, 
Master Moreau, to deliver up everything, and 
particularly see that the new proprietor does 
not infringe upon what is left ; ’for an estate 
once divided is like a torn garment ; the rent 
goes on constantly increasing.” 

At this moment a servant opened the door. 

“ What do you want ? ” said the Count, 
turning round. 

“ A merchant wishes to speak to your lord- 
ship.” 

“A merchant! — the scoundrel! He comes, 
no doubt, to demand the payment of some 
debt.” 

“ My lord will excuse me, but he is a ped- 
ler.” 

“ And what does he sell ? ” 

“ Manuscripts.” 

“ Let him go on his way. I can have 
nothing to do with his wares, at this time. 

“ He pretends that he wishes to speak with 
you on some business, aside from his trade, 
which may be of importance to your lord- 
ship.” 


THE SERF. 


159 


“ Well, well! you will find that it is some 
Jew, who wishes to lend me money, at sixty 
per cent. But let him come in.” 

The servant went out, and soon returned 
with a young man of dark complexion, his 
shoes covered with dust, and carrying upon 
his shoulders a pedler’s pack. 

On seeing the Count, he uncovered his 
head, and remained standing at some dis- 
tance, waiting till Lord Raoul should address 
him. 

“ Have you any business with me ? ” asked 
the Count, abruptly. 

“ Yes, my lord,” replied the merchant. 

The sound of his voice seemed to strike 
Master Moreau, who raised his head. 

“ Heaven save us ! ” cried he, “ this is no 
stranger ! ” 

Who is he then ? ” asked Lord Raoul. 

“ As sure as I am a Christian, I am not 
mistaken,” said the steward. “ This ped- 
ler— » 

» Well!” 

“ Is one of your own men, my lord! ” 

“ Mine ! ” 


160 


THE SERF. 


“ It is that Jehan who ran away eight years 
ago.” 

‘‘ Can it be?” 

“ It is true, my lord,” said the merchant. 

“ And do you dare to present yourself here, 
rascal ! ” cried Master Moreau. “ Know you 
not that his lordship may, if he pleases, have 
you whipped before the gate of the castle ? ” 

Jehan threw a look of scorn upon the stew- 
ard. My lord has full power over the serfs 
on his estate,” answered he, coolly ; “ but not 
over those who have acquired a right of citi- 
zenship in a free town.” 

“ What do you say about rights of citizen- 
ship ? ” interrupted the Count. “ Have you 
obtained your enfranchisement from me ? ” 

“No, my lord ! but I hold it by right of 
usage.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Here is a certificate, proving that I have 
lived a year and a day at Besan^on.” 

“ At Besan^on,” repeated Master Moreau, 
seizing the parchment which Jehan held. 

“ And what is that to me ? ” said Raoul. 

“ My lord must be doubtless aware that a 


THE SERF. 


161 


residence in certain towns gives a serf his 
freedom.” 

“ Is this true ? ” 

“ Too true ” muttered Master Moreau. 

“ So, then, this impudent fellow is free, 
without my consent.” 

“ Free from serfdom,” answered the stew- 
ard. “But he is none the less a vassal of 
your lordship, compelled to do homage, and 
to serve you in battle against all enemies, 
always excepting the king.” 

“ And I am ready to do this,” said Jehan. 

“ Curse the clown ! ” cried Raoul, stamping 
his foot, “who has allowed the residence in 
any town to restrict our rights ? These com- 
munities of burghers will end by becoming 
places of refuge for all our serfs.” 

Then, turning towards Jehan, he added, 
“ And you have come here, no doubt, to brave 
me, fellow ? ” 

“ Far from me be such a thought, my lord ! ” 
said the young man. 

“ What do you want then ? ” 

“ My lord, you have on your estate an old 
man and a young girl, both serfs : the old 
14 * 


162 


THE SERF. 


man is my father, and the young girl is be- 
trothed to be my wife.” 

“ What then ? ” 

“ I wish to purchase their freedom.” 

“ And I will not sell it ! ” cried Raoul ; “ we 
will see if they can obtain it, without my 
consent ! ” 

“ Ah ! you will not, my lord, revenge your- 
self so severely upon me,” cried Jehan. 
‘‘ You will not refuse my prayer ! ” 

“ But I do refuse it.” 

But consider, my lord — ” 

‘ I do consider that your father and your 
betrothed are both in my power, and they 
shall remain so. By Heaven! I will do as 
I like, for once ! ” 

“ Besides, his lordship has already disposed 
of old Thomas and Catherine,” put in Master 
Moreau, with a malicious smile. 

“ How is that ? ” 

“ They both belong to the families who are 
to be given up to the lord of Vaujour.” 

“ Can this be so ? ” cried Jehan. 

“ Yes,” answered Raoul ; “ I have sold him 
three villages, with all their serfs, and you 


THE SERF. 


163 


cannot get out of his hands either the old 
man or the young girl, for he has sworn never 
to consent to an enfranchisement.” 

Jehan shuddered and grew pale. He knew 
that the lord of Vaujour was one of those 
bloodthirsty wretches who take pleasure in 
the sufferings of others. Incredible stories 
were related of his cruelty ; a large number of 
his serfs had either died or fled ; his lands 
were no longer cultivated, and the villages on 
his estate were falling to decay. The bare 
idea of seeing his father and Catherine in the 
power of this monster filled the young man 
with terror. 

I will submit to any conditions that your 
lordship pleases,” said he; “but, in Christ’s 
name, do not deliver those I love into the 
power of the Duke of Vaujour!” 

“ His lordship cannot be released from his 
bargain,” interrupted Master Moreau, who 
feared lest Lord E-aoul should allow himself 
to be moved by the entreaties of the young 
man. 

“ I will give up to him all I possess, in pay- 
ment,” said Jehan. 


164 


THE SERF. 


“ Well! truly I am curious to see how 
much a fellow like you can hide in his purse.’’ 

“ I have twelve old crowns to offer,” an- 
swered Jehan, quickly, taking all his money 
from the leathern purse which he wore at his 
side. 

“ That is too little,” said Master Moreau, 
dryly. 

‘‘Alas! I can give no more,” said Jehan. 
“ But, if you must, take besides all my manu- 
scripts! See, my lord! here are breviaries 
written in three kinds of ink, missals orna- 
mented with gilded capitals, copies of Hor- 
ace, and the Logic of Aristotle. They are 
worth at least twenty crowns more. Is not 
that enough for the freedom of an old man 
and a young girl? O, I entreat you, do not 
refuse me this ! You would not revenge 
yourself on me, my lord, for I am too weak, 
and you too strong. You know that nothing 
can live upon the lands of Vaujour. To send 
away my father and Catherine would be de- 
livering them to torture. O take pity on 
them! In the name of all you love, mercy 
for them, my lord ! mercy for me ! ” 


THE SERF. 


165 


Jehan had fallen at the Count^s feet. The 
steward, seeing that he was wavering, drew 
him quickly aside. 

“Take care, my lord,” said he. “If the 
example of Jehan should be followed, your 
lands would soon be left without peasants.” 

“No doubt,” answered Raoul. “But this 
boy^s sorrow troubles me.” 

“ Withdraw, then, and I will undertake to 
get rid of him.” 

“ But those twelve crowns, and those 
books ? ” 

“ I will get possession of them, my lord.” 

“ Will you so ? ” 

“ And Jehan will be none the less punished, 
as he ought to be, for an example.” 

“ Well then ! do the best you can,” said the 
Count. 

Then, turning towards the young pedler, 
who had remained all the time on his knees, 
with his hands clasped, the Count said : “ 1 
do not treat with a rebellious serf ; make 
your proposition to Master Moreau.” 

And the Count left the hall. 

Jehan saw him go out, and then slowly 


166 


THE SERF. 


raised himself from the ground ; his eyes met 
those of the steward, and he shuddered invol- 
untarily. “ I am at your disposal, master ? ” 
said he, in a dejected tone. ‘‘ What may I 
hope ? ” 

“ Are those twelve crowns and those books 
all that you possess ? ” asked Moreau. 

‘‘ All. I swear it, by my hopes of heaven.” 

Then choose between your father and 
Catherine ! ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ That you can only purchase one of them.” 

Jehan recoiled. In all his anticipations, he 
had never thought of such a trial as this. He 
remained as if stunned. The steward looked 
at him with ill-disguised satisfaction. 

“ Well ! do you understand me ? ” asked he 
at length. 

“ It is impossible,” stammered Jehan. “You 
cannot demand such a choice of me.” 

“ Then they will both go to Vaujour,” re- 
plied he, with indifference. 

“ No ! ” cried the young man. “ No ! both 
shall remain. I entreat you, master ! If the 
price that I offer to-day is not enough, I 


THE SERF. 


167 


pledge my word of honor that I will pay as 
much more.” 

The steward shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I do not register ^ words of honor ’ in my 
accounts,” said he, coldly. “ Make your 
choice, and be quick, if you would not be too 
late.” 

He had opened the window, and Jehan 
then saw the court-yard full of men, women 
and children, and old people, whose names a 
scribe was recording. All were lamenting, 
with bitter groans, and raising their eyes, 
swimming in tears, to heaven. 

Those are all serfs, belonging to the lands 
which have been sold,” said Master Moreau. 
“ In a few minutes the steward of Vaujour 
will be here to carry them away, and your 
choice wiU then be too late to be of use ; de- 
cide soon if you would not lose your father 
and Catherine, without hope of recovery.” 

Jehan’s situation was dreadful. Divided 
between two affections, which he had always 
before considered as equal, he dared not ques- 
tion his own heart. To save Catherine was 
to save his future and the realization of all 


168 


THE SERF. 


his hopes. But to save his father was to pay 
the debt of gratitude imposed on him by the 
past. On both sides, the danger was the 
same ; thus distracted, breathless, he dared 
not pronounce a sentence which would cause 
him either to fail in his duty, or to annihilate 
his own happiness. 

He had fallen on his knees, near the win- 
dow, his hands clasped, asking of God to 
inspire him, and not finding within himself 
the strength necessary for a decision, when 
Catherine, whom he had not before perceived, 
suddenly left the crowd. Seeing her, so 
beautiful and so sad, Jehan could resist no 
longer. He sprang up, with a bound, and 
was bending over the balcony to call her, 
when an old man appeared, in his turn, walk- 
ing with difficulty, and led by a child. 

Jehan recognized his father, and the word 
was arrested on his lips. He recalled to 
mind, in a moment, the care that the old 
man had lavished upon him, the tenderness 
by which he had always been surrounded, 
the useful counsels which he had given him ; 
all the recollections of his youth seemed to 


THE SERF. 


169 


awake, to form a protection for the old man. 
Filled with respect and pious gratitude, his 
heart was moved ; he bowed his head and 
extended his arms, weeping. 

My father ! ” cried he. “ Give me back 
my father! And may God have pity upon 
me ! ” 


15 


170 


THE SERF. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Several months had passed, the sun was 
just sinking below the horizon, and his last 
rays were shining brightly upon the forest of 
Vaujour ; but none of the sounds which usu- 
ally animate the country at this hour were to 
be heard ; no loud shouts, no lowing of cattle, 
no sound of the bell calling to prayer, before 
the close of the day. The fields were desert- 
ed, the houses closed and silent I It seemed 
as if some terrible disaster were hanging over 
the whole country. This disaster was war; 
and, most fearful of all, a war in which the 
combatants spoke the same language, and 
had been friends the day before, — a war be- 
tween neighbors ! 

The bargain between Count Raoul and the 
Duke of Vaujour had not failed to provoke 
quarrels between the two lords. Each com- 
plained of the bad faith of the other. From 
accusations they went on to mutual aggres- 


THE SERF. 


171 


sions, and from aggressions to open hostil- 
ities. 

The Duke was the first to make a decla- 
ration of war. He invaded his neighbor’s 
domain, destroyed his crops, burned his vil- 
lages, and killed as many of his people as he 
could. Count Raoul, wishing to retaliate, 
convoked his vassals ; and Jehan, who had 
just lost his father, appeared, armed, at the 
appointed place. The Count divided his men 
into several troops, which he placed under the 
command of men-at-arms, to whom he had 
given secret orders. The young merchant 
made one among the most numerous body of 
men, and at the time when we resume our 
story he was marching with his troop towards 
Clairai. 

Lord Raoul’s vassals marched in great dis- 
order, casting timid looks on all sides, as if 
they feared some ambush, and asked each 
other, in a low tone, what was the object of 
their expedition. Jehan, who was in the rear, 
was suddenly accosted by a fisherman from 
Rille, who, being a vassal and farmer of the 
Count, had also been forced to march. 


172 


THE SERF. 


“ Well ! ” said he, in a low voice, “ do you 
know what they are going to do with us ? ” 

“ Nothing good, of course,’’ answered Jehan. 

“ I imagine that we shall treat Clairai as 
the lord of Vaujour has treated our villages.” 

“ What shall we gain by that, but the ruin 
of our relatives and friends ? ” replied Jehan. 

“ That is true, my boy,” answered the fish- 
erman, “ but what is to be done ? The vassal 
must take up arms, when his lord commands 
it.” 

Yes,” said Jehan, “ and if he refuse, he is 
condemned like a coward or a felon, for he is 
not master even of his own hatred. At a 
sign, or a word, his neighbor of yesterday 
must become his enemy ; and all this without 
his knowing the reason why. He must es- 
pouse his master’s quarrels, and strike where 
he orders him to strike ! ” 

“ Fortunately, there is no member of my 
family on the estate of Vaujour,” said the 
fisherman. 

“ Nor of mine, I hope,” said Jehan. 

‘‘ But while I think of it, your cousin Cath- 
erine — ” 


THE SERF. 


173 


“ She is in the service of the Duke’s daugh- 
ter, and lives at the castle, where there is 
nothing to fear.” 

“ You are mistaken, Jehan,” said a voice. 

The young man turned round quickly, and 
saw Master Moreau. 

“ Catherine is no longer at the castle,” con- 
tinued the steward. 

“ How do you know ? ” cried Jehan. 

“ By the spies, who have traversed the es- 
tate of Vaujour. She has returned to her 
mother, who was ill.” 

“ By the fish-pond! ” cried Jehan. “ Ah ! I 
will hasten thither.” 

“ It is useless.” 

« Why?” 

“ The troop commanded by Pierre is al- 
ready there, with orders to burn everything.” 

“ Can this be so ? ” 

“ And you would be too late. Look 
there ! ” 

Jehan raised his head. The flames bright- 
ly illuminated the sky, in the direction of the 
fish-pond. The young man uttered a cry, 
and dashed through the thickets, directing his 
15 * 


174 


THE SERF. 


course hastily towards the fire. He soon dis- 
tinguished the blazing huts, and thought he 
heard cries. Making a final efibrt, he rushed 
quickly over the space which still separat- 
ed him from them, and reached his cousin’s 
door. 

The flames were just beginning to creep 
along the thatched roof, when the distracted 
Jehan sprang into the cabin. As he did so, 
his foot slipped in blood, and struck against 
a corpse stretched upon the ground. 

It was the body of Catherine I 

***** 

A month afterwards, Jehan took the habit 
of a novice in the Franciscan monastery at 
Tours. 

The first day that he descended to the 
court-yard, a monk came up to him and 
asked if he recognized him. It was the same 
who, a simple novice, ten years before, had 
advised Jehan to enter the convent. Noticing 
the paleness of that sad and harassed face, the 
young monk shook his head. « Alas ! I see,” 
said he, “ you have had a hard experience of 
life.” 


THE SERF. 


175 


“ And after a long trial, I have found, as 
you said, that here is the only refuge,” added 
Jehan. “ Everywhere else we drag with us 
the chain of serfdom. Here alone is freedom ; 
here is to be found the true dignity of man. 
Formerly I saw in your convent only a house 
of prayer, but now I know that it is also an 
asylum for afflicted souls. In the midst of 
this state of society, still barbarous, based 
upon the rights of the strongest, the monas- 
teries are like high mountains, to which the 
vanquished may flee to escape from servitude. 
While selfishness and violence degrade the 
people, here is preserved the holy inheritance 
of knowledge, justice, and liberty!” 

“ And you may add, my brother, that this 
inheritance will spread hence over all the 
earth,” said the monk. “ Yes ! the day will 
come when the brotherhood that we preach 
will become the general law ; when assemblies 
of men will be only great communities in 
which all will be equal, and in which chiefs, 
freely elected, can alone command. It is to 
this great work that we must devote our 
efforts and our prayers.” 


176 


THE SERF. 


“ Alas ! ’’ said Jehan, “ if this be true, why 
did we not come upon the earth some cen- 
turies later ? Why must we build an edifice, 
cemented with our own blood, for others to 
dwell in?” 

“ And do you know, my brother, what those 
have suffered who have built ours,” quickly 
answered the monk. “ Do you not think that 
the first Christians, who proclaimed the liber- 
ty of mankind and their equality before God, 
were more cruelly tried than we ? How 
many have died, torn by wild beasts, or un- 
der the scourge of the executioner, before the 
ancient slave became the serf of our times? 
Do not accuse Providence, but rather observe 
with admiration how it has given to each 
generation its task, and to every age its prog- 
ress. The slave had formerly no other refuge 
than the tomb ; now, the serf finds among us 
an asylum. Ah, my brother, do not complain, 
but think only how to hasten the regeneration 
of the world ! ” 

“ How can I do this ? ” asked Jehan. 

“ By preaching freedom, with all our pow- 
ers,” replied the monk ; “ by declaring to the 


THE SERF. 


177 


mighty, about to appear before God, that that 
God recognizes neither lords nor serfs. By 
abolishing, everywhere, the right of property 
in man, the last relic of a wicked and degrad- 
ing paganism ! ” 

“Ah, may God hear you!” cried Jehan. 
“ And may he grant me power to labor in 
such a work ! ” 

“ You can do it,” answered the monk ; “for 
you have put on the livery of the workman ! ” 

“ And do you hope for success, my broth- 
er?” 

“ I rely upon the words of Christ,” answered 
the monk ; “ and Christ has said, ‘ Blessed 
are they that mourn, for they shall be com- 
forted.^ ” 


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THE APPRENTICE. 


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1 






THE APPRENTICE. 


CHAPTER I. 

One of those sad events, which poverty 
brings so often in its train, occurred about 
the middle of January, 18 — , in one of the 
most wretched houses of the suburb of Bale, 
at Mulhausen. In a garret, open to every 
wind, where the frost entered through the 
broken panes, a woman of about forty years 
of age lay stretched upon a miserable bed. 
Her pallid face show’ed that the sources of 
life were exhausted within her. The widow 
Kosmall (this was the name of the dying 
woman) had struggled for many years against 
the severest privations, and had worn out a 
frame naturally robust by labors which would 
have tasked superhuman powers. 

16 


182 


THE APPRENTICE. 


At her husband’s death she was left bur- 
dened with the care of two children, the elder 
about four years old ; it was only by an ac- 
cumulation of fatigue upon fatigue, of misery 
upon misery, often anticipating the wages of 
to-morrow to satisfy the hunger of to-day, that 
she had succeeded in bringing up her two or- 
phan boys. For a long time she had felt that 
her strength was failing ; but when her ability to 
labor had left her entirely, most of the people 
who had furnished her with work, ignorant of 
the cause of what they called her carelessness, 
ceased to employ her. Encouraged and sus- 
tained, the poor woman might perhaps have 
borne up against her troubles ; but thus re- 
pulsed, the struggle became impossible. 

One evening, when she returned, more ex- 
hausted than usual, to her garret, she cast a 
look upon the wood-chest, and the cupboard, 
both empty, and said to Frederic, the young- 
est boy : “ My son, God will perhaps have pity 
on us, but you must now no longer look to me 
for support, for I feel that I am very ill. You 
are a good workman, and your master likes 
you ; when he knows that you and your brother 


THE APPRENTICE. 


183 


are in utter want, he will not refuse to advance 
a part of your wages. I know that it is hard 
to make such a request ; but you have courage, 
Frederic, and God has said that we must de- 
pend upon ourselves for aid.” 

Frederic looked at his mother anxiously. 
They had often before wanted bread, but she 
had never before spoken thus. He was 
alarmed at her paleness and prostration ; still 
he kept back the tears which sprang to his 
eyes. He drew near to her, urged her to lie 
down, and told her that he would go at once 
to Mr. Kartmann’s house. 

But the money which Mr. Kartmann ad- 
vanced was hardly enough to satisfy their 
necessities even for a few days, and soon the 
poor family were again in want. On the 20th 
of January the garret of the widow Kosmall 
was even colder than usual ; the eye searched 
in vain for a spark of fire in the half-open 
stove; two candles were burning upon a 
wretched worm-eaten table, near the bed, and 
the silvery sound of the little bell, which a 
chorister was ringing before the holy viaticum^ 
was still heard in the street. The dying 


184 


THE APPRENTICE. 


woman had just received the last offices of 
religion. Her two sons were on their knees at 
her side. Frederic seemed absorbed in grief : 
Francis, the elder, wept also, but it was evi- 
dent that his tears sprang only from a momen- 
tary emotion, and through this transient afflic- 
tion it was easy to detect thoughtlessness and 
insensibility. 

Soon after the departure of the priest, the 
sick woman tried to rise, and made a sign to 
her two children to listen attentively ; then, 
stretching her feeble arms towards them, she 
took a hand of each, and drew them gently 
towards the bed. 

“ In a few hours,” said she, “ you will be 
indeed orphans, and you will have no one to 
depend upon but yourselves. God is good to 
me. He takes me away at a time when my 
arms have become too feeble to work for you. 
I should have wished to live longer to guide 
you ; but since I must die, listen to my last 
words. I have nothing to leave you but the 
legacy of the poor, — good advice. Before 
you are old enough to gain a livelihood as 
men, you will have many bitter hours to en- 


THE APPRENTICE. 


185 


dure. Whatever your necessities may be, still 
remember that honesty is your only wealth. 
I often might have taken what belonged to 
others, when you wanted bread, but I rather 
chose to hear your cries of hunger than do a 
thing forbidden by God. Besides, the future 
must be more favorable to you than the past. 
You, Frederic, are still very young. You were 
only thirteen last Christmas ; but you possess 
what is a fortune in itself, the love of work. 
As for you, Francis,” she added, turning her 
failing eyes towards her eldest son, “ do not be 
disturbed at what I am going to say, and do 
not consider my words as a reproach for the 
past, but only as a prayer for the future. 
Watch over yourself, my child; you do not 
love work, and the love of work is the only 
guaranty of the honesty of the poor. When 
one has not the courage to earn his bread, 
from day to day, he is nearly ready to steal it. 
Remain with Frederic; he is your natural 
companion. Listen to his advice, and do not 
feel hurt at his superiority; he well knows 
that he owes it to God, and he will not let it 
give you pain.” 


16 


186 


THE APPRENTICE. 


Then, pressing the hand of Francis, which 
lay immovable in her own, “ Swear to me,” 
she said, “that you will not separate from 
your brother, and that you will not seek a 
home far from the only relation you have 
left.” Francis promised, weeping; and al- 
though he made the promise almost uncon- 
sciously, it appeared to satisfy the dying wo- 
man, for her face lighted up with a sudden 
ray of joy. 

“ I die in peace,” said she. “ O my beloved 
children ! do not forget that all I have suffered 
has been for you both, and that when you 
have complained, both voices have pierced 
my heart at the same time. Continue, then, 
united, in this life, as you have been in my 
love.” 

Then, laying her icy hands upon the two 
young heads which were bowed before her, 
she uttered, in a feeble voice, some words 
which were addressed only to God, and were 
heard by him alone. Soon after, she drew 
her last breath. 

The ne:5{;t day the two orphans followed the 
body to the grave. The bearers, a single priest, 


THE APPRENTICE. 


187 


and the children, accompanied her to her last 
resting-place. Nothing but the tears of Fred- 
eric and his brother showed that there had 
existed a bond of relationship between the 
corpse and the two mourners, for they had no 
money to buy the dress suitable to their con- 
dition. 


188 


THE APPRENTICE. 


CHAPTER II. 

Left to themselves, the two brothers soon 
turned in different directions. Francis, whose 
mother’s death had troubled him, because the 
loss of those who care for and love us is bitter 
even to the most frivolous natures, found no 
means of escape from sorrow, but in boister- 
ous sports. The day after the burial of his 
mother he went to Tanevat with other boys 
of his own age, to slide upon the ice which 
floated on the meadows. Frederic understood 
his duty differently. His first burst of grief 
over, he endeavored to follow his mother’s ad- 
vice, by working courageously. He returned 
to the factory with red eyes, a pale brow, and 
a sad but resolute heart. 

Passing near him during the day, Mr. Kart- 
mann stopped, and said, in a severe tone: 
“ You have been absent for several days. Are 
you losing your habits of punctuality ? ” 

“ I have been taking care of my mother, sir.” 


THE APPRENTICE. 


189 


“ Is she better, now ? ” 

“ She is dead,” answered Frederic, weeping. 

Mr. Kartmann uttered an exclamation of 
surprise. ‘‘ Poor child ! ” said he. “ How 
long ago ? ” 

“ Two days since.” 

“ You may go,” said the manufacturer, with 
tender compassion. “ Go, Frederic ; you need 
not return till the end of the week, and you 
shall receive your wages as if you had been at 
work.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” answered the boy. “ But 
^wherever my mother is now, she must be 
happy in seeing me at work. I obey her in 
remaining here.” 

Mr. Kartmann laid his hand kindly upon 
the head of the young apprentice, and said to 
him : “ You may take your place among the 
first apprentices, and I will increase your sal- 
ary.” 

But the zeal of the orphan was not limited 
only to the labors of the factory. Mr. Kart- 
mann announced that he was about to estab- 
lish an evening school, which might take the 
place of the public schools, of which the ap- 


190 


THE APPRENTICE. 


prentices could not avail themselves. This 
news filled Frederic with joy. It was the first 
way of obtaining instruction which had been 
opened to him. He had often heard his mother 
deplore the ignorance from which her children 
had no means of escape, and he easily under- 
stood by his own observation the importance 
of education. When the 15th of February 
came, the day on which the course of instruc- 
tion was to begin, he went to the factory, 
more than ever disposed to work, with a heart 
full of courageous resolutions. During the 
whole day the thought of the evening never 
left him. He considered this moment as the 
period of the reward promised to his industry, 
and never had his task appeared to him so light. 

But the poor child was far from foresee- 
ing, in his noble impatience, all the obstacles 
which lay in his way. God alone knows 
what strength of mind was necessary to him 
to overcome his first distaste for study ; what 
power of will he needed to conquer his na- 
ture and subject it to its new task. 

We do not give sufficient credit to the poor 
man for the knowledge that he acquires. A 


THE APPRENTICE. 


191 


thousand obstacles, unknown to the rich, in- 
crease the difficulties of study for him. Noth- 
ing in his previous education prepares him for 
studious occupations. Life for him is wholly 
made up of material facts ; and it is in this 
sphere that his necessities and his griefs move. 
Frederic, especially, had been in this respect 
in the most unfavorable condition. Born in a 
manufacturing town, he had been placed, at 
the age of seven, before a machine which he 
was accustomed to see in operation, without 
investigating the relations of the different 
parts. In the labors which were imposed 
upon him, he felt the need of nothing but 
strength and manual skill. His mind had 
necessarily contracted, in consequence, habits 
of inactivity. It turned from one thing to an- 
other, resting upon any one object only long 
enough to find in it occasion for amusement, 
and never making it a motive for reflection. 
So, although he was the most industrious 
workman in the factory, he was yet wholly a 
stranger to all intellectual labor. He needed, 
then, a powerful will to fix his ever-wandering 
mind. 


192 


THE APPRENTICE. 


During the first part of the time, and what- 
ever he did to restrain them, he felt constantly 
that his thoughts were wandering. Memory, 
the faculty which is only acquired and main- 
tained by continual exercise, he was almost 
entirely deficient in. Still, by degrees, he suc- 
ceeded in effacing the bad influences of his 
previous education. Through his earnest de- 
sire, and by the employment of all his pow- 
ers, he was at last able to control and direct 
his thoughts. When he had once gained this 
first victory, which placed his intellectual fac- 
ulties under the power of his will, study be- 
came easier to him. That which at first had 
seemed obscure, showed itself to him under a 
definite form; his mind could, without too 
much fatigue, proceed from cause to effect, 
and draw conclusions ; but many secret efforts, 
many noble struggles, were necessary to attain 
this end. 

A short time before this, Frederic and Fran- 
cis had left their garret to board at the house 
of an old woman, named Odile Eidler, who had 
been a friend of their mother’s. Once installed 
in their new dwelling, our young apprentice 


THE APPRENTICE. 


193 


was able to profit by his landlady’s fire and 
lamp, to work at night and review his lessons. 
But what was of more advantage to him was 
a labor which he had undertaken of his own 
accord. He begged Odile to lend him her 
prayer-book, and to point out the place of a 
prayer which he knew by heart. He studied 
the words one by one, and at the end of a few 
weeks he was able to distinguish them per- 
fectly, without regard to their situation. He 
then searched for the same words in every 
page of the book, and recognized them. Then 
he divided them into syllables, and found that, 
in order to read most words, he needed only 
to combine these differently. Often, in the 
midst of this study, the poor child, already 
worn out by the labor of the day, felt his eyes 
close ; but, imitating, without knowing it, an 
ancient philosopher, he had made the widow 
K-idler, whose work kept her up till eleven 
o’clock, promise to wake him whenever she 
should see him fall asleep. 

Part of every Sunday was employed in the 
same manner. After having fulfilled his re- 
ligious duties and taken a walk, he returned 
17 


194 


THE APPRENTICE. 


home, and never left his book till evening, 
when he went with Odile to pass a few hours 
with the neighbors. 

Such courageous perseverance could not 
fail to produce a sure and prompt result. 
Towards the end of spring, Frederic could 
read fluently. He then tried to give some les- 
sons to Francis, who did not work in the 
same establishment as Frederic, but all his 
efforts and all his entreaties were useless. 

“ What good will it do me to know how to 
read, in order to spin cotton ? ’’ was his an- 
swer. 

Frederic was obliged to give up his efforts 
to overcome his brother’s idleness, but he 
continued, on his own account, the studies 
which he had begun. He soon asked the 
teacher to admit him into the first division of 
the class, where he learned the rudiments of 
writing and arithmetic, and by the aid of his 
own efforts, rather than the explanations which 
he received, he made as rapid progress in his 
new studies as he had already done in reading. 
After about two years passed in this manner, 
Mr. Kartmann again raised his wages. 


THE APPRENTICE. 


195 


Still, the course of study which was given 
at the manufactory did not go beyond read- 
ing, writing, and arithmetic. Frederic would 
have liked to study geometry, indispensable 
as he well knew it to be in mechanics. Un- 
fortunately, he needed books, and had no 
means of buying them. At length St. 
George’s day arrived, and with it an unex- 
pected pleasure for the orphan. This was Mr. 
Kartmann’s birthday. When all his work- 
men and apprentices came to congratulate 
him, he called Frederic forward, and, putting 
a piece of gold into his hands, “ Take this,” he 
said, “ my good friend ; it is the reward which 
I designed for the most studious pupil. I am 
happy that you have deserved it.” 

A piece of gold I It was more than Fred- 
eric had ever dared to wish for ; it was the 
realization of his most beautiful dreams. The 
poor child felt so full of happiness, that his 
emotion alone could express his gratitude. 

Two hours after, he was in the little gar- 
den attached to the widow Ridler’s house, 
seated upon a bench, turning over, in a sort 
of intoxication, the leaves of some books 


196 


THE APPRENTICE. 


placed upon his knees. A thousand hopes, 
a thousand plans for the future, passed be- 
fore his eyes. He was happy for the first 
time in his life. 


THE APPRENTICE. 


197 


CHAPTER III. 

One summer evening, after leaving his 
workshop, when Frederic, according to his 
custom, had seated himself in the good Wid- 
ow’s garden to study undisturbed, the dark- 
ness compelled him to close his book. 

His thoughts turned then, naturally, to the 
object which interested him the most in the 
world. He asked himself, for the hundredth 
time, what could have become of his brother, 
for a fortnight had passed since he had seen 
him. He recalled, with sadness, his mother’s 
last words, “ Continue united in this life, as 
you have always been in my love ” ; and he 
said to himself, that, even in heaven, her hap- 
piness would not be perfect, since her last 
hope had been disappointed. In the midst of 
his anxiety, he had the consolation of feeling 
that he had not neglected in any respect to 
obey the instructions of his dying mother. 
Not only had he assisted Francis with his 
17 * 


198 


THE APPRENTICE. 


advice, but he had undergone a thousand pri- 
vations on his account. Now, alas ! he saw 
that his sacrifices had been in vain, and that 
there are those whom no ties can restrain. 
These thoughts afflicted him deeply. Contra- 
ry to his usual habit, he did not wait impa- 
tiently till Gdile Ridler lighted her little lamp, 
that he might continue his reading, but, over- 
come by his anxiety, he continued walking in 
the narrow alleys of the garden. 

Suddenly, a well-known voice, calling to 
him in a cautious tone, was heard near him. 
Frederic turned quickly round, and saw Fran- 
cis, whose tattered garments, and worn and 
haggard face, told clearly how he must have 
lived since his disappearance. 

His brother looked at him for some time, 
with a sad and pitying expression ; but, dis- 
mayed at his appearance, and restrained by 
the feeling of delicacy which embarrasses one 
at sight of another’s fault, he had not the 
power to ask him a single question. 

Francis, whose reckless indifference pro- 
tected him from all feelings of shame, was 
the first to break silence. “ You think me 


THE APPRENTICE. 


199 


changed, do you not?” asked he, in a tone 
which showed vexation rather than remorse ; 
“but I can tell you, I have not been living 
in clover since I left you, and I have been to 
bed hungry more than once.” 

“ What can have kept you so long from the 
house ? ” asked Frederic, with hesitation. 

“ The best reason in the world, — an utter 
disgust for reels and bobbins. The overseer 
saw that I had no great fancy for the factory 
work, so he made his report to the master, 
who politely bade me good by a fortnight 
ago.” 

“ That is a great misfortune for persons like 
us, who have only our own hands to depend 
upon ; but it was not a sufficient reason for 
running away.” 

“ I was afraid too that good mother Ridler, 
knowing I had no work, would not let me in.” 

“ Perhaps she would have consented to 
keep you, at my request. Besides, you know 
that as long as I have a morsel of bread, and 
a bed, you shall always have a share in 
them.” 

“ Yes ! but I expected to have my share 


200 


THE APPRENTICE. 


of lectures, too, and I did not want any 
more of them. Besides, I liked very well to 
see a little of the country. I wished to 
take a journey into Switzerland. I was told 
that it is a fine country, and that people live 
there for nothing. That was tempting, con- 
sidering my position. But those mountain- 
eers are brutes. When I asked them for 
something to eat, they said I was old enough 
to earn my own living. As if I had been 
at the trouble of leaving my own country to 
work anywhere else ! ” 

“ I think, indeed,” said Frederic, in a seri- 
ous tone, “that there is no country where 
people are not obliged to work, and I do not 
consider this necessity as a misfortune ; but it 
is truly a misfortune not to be willing to sub- 
mit to the necessity.” 

“ That is all very well, this necessity, for 
you, who think so much of being learned ! 
As for me, I was born to be rich, and I ought 
to have been brought up accordingly.” 

“Listen to me,” said Frederic. “These 
things are well enough to joke about; but 
you know very well that complaints about 


THE APPRENTICE. 


201 


your position will not alter it, and that you 
must take it just as it is. We, the children 
of laborers, must not expect to live in idleness. 
Our aim should be to get our own living, 
without asking alms of the rich. To do this, 
we have no resources but our own right-arms. 
The weak alone have a right to complain ; but 
for those who have strength and health, labor 
is easy.” 

Have I not told you,” answered Francis, 
in an angry tone, that I have been dismissed 
from the factory ? What good will a Icfve for 
work do me, if I have no work to do ? ” 

“ There are other manufactories, at Mul- 
hausen, besides the one you have been work- 
ing in, and, with proper efforts, you would 
easily find employment.” 

“ Yes ! you wish me to go from door to 
door, asking if anybody wants me, do you? 
That ’s a glorious trade.” 

“ Do you consider it less humiliating to ex- 
tend your hand to the passer-by for charity ? 
But since this course does not please you, I 
will spare you the trouble. To-morrow morn- 
ing I will speak to Mr. Kartmann, and he 


202 


THE APPRENTICE. 


will perhaps consent to admit you into one of 
his factories. Will that suit you ? ’’ 

‘‘ I suppose it must suit me.” 

Frederic did not wish to prolong this pain- 
ful interview ; besides, Francis seemed tired, 
and he induced him to return to Odile’s house. 

Odile showed, by her cool reception of the 
wanderer, the astonishment which his return 
caused her, and asked him to seek a shelter 
elsewhere; but Frederic interceded for his 
brother, and obtained permission from good 
darned Ridler to give him half of his bed and 
supper. Thus Francis already felt Frederic’s 
influence extended over him as a protection. 

The night which followed the return of the 
runaway was passed very differently by the 
two brothers. The elder slept quietly, not 
troubling himself about the morrow, while 
Frederic’s sleep was disturbed by a thousand 
uneasy thoughts. He thought with much 
anxiety of the manner in which Mr. Kart- 
mann would receive his request. 

The next morning he went with Francis to 
his master’s house, and explained to him, in a 
trembling voice, the cause of his visit. He 


THE APPRENTICE. 


203 


would have concealed his brother’s ill-con- 
duct ; but when Mr. Kartmann asked him why 
he had left the factory where he had been 
working, he confessed the whole, for he could 
not tell a falsehood. 

“ This is a bad beginning,” said the master, 
shaking his head. “ Still,” added he, turning 
to Francis, “ I will admit you into my estab- 
lishment ; but do not forget that I receive you 
out of regard for your younger brother, whose 
example I hope you will follow.” 

On that day, as on the evening before, it 
was at the request of a boy younger than 
himself that he had been received with favor. 
But in the heart of Francis no feeling of pride 
was wounded by this change of situations, 
and when he was alone with Frederic, on 
the staircase, he said to him, in a gay tone ; 

Well, my boy, you seem to be quite a 
character here! You have only to ask, to 
obtain all you Want. Henceforth I shall 
know to whom to apply.” 

‘‘ I do my duty, and they like me for it,” 
replied Frederic. “ That is the whole secret 
of my influence.” 


204 


THE APPRENTICE. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Some months passed without causing any 
change in the situation of the two brothers. 
The elder, as we have already stated, had 
been admitted into Mr. Kartmann’s manu- 
factory, and although he had shown but little 
energy, he had not yet received any serious 
reprimand. As to Frederic, the qualities 
which had first acquired for him the favorable 
notice of his master were becoming more 
developed every day. His intelligence, in- 
creased by the education which he had ac- 
quired by dint of perseverance, placed him at 
the head of all the apprentices of his own 
age ; and the conscientious attention which 
he paid to any business that was intrusted to 
him, rendered him almost as useful as a man. 
Employed as a colorer in the immense es- 
tablishment of Mr. Kartmann, which carried 
on the manufacture of cotton, from the spin- 
ning of the thread to the printing of the 


THE APPRENTICE. 


205 


fabric, he had often admired the engraved 
blocks, by means of which white cloth is 
transformed into beautiful prints. This care- 
ful observation had finally created in him a 
strong desire and a vague hope. To be ad- 
mitted into the printing-house, to learn how 
to make these precious blocks, soon became 
the dream of his life. Without acknowledg- 
ing his plans even to himself, he loved to 
think that he might some day change his sit- 
uation for that of an engraver ; for he had the 
laudable ambition which makes a youth de- 
sire to raise himself by his own courage and 
industry. 

He first thought of obtaining permission 
from his master to employ some hours of his 
time in learning the branch which he desired; 
but he shrunk from the idea of asking such 
a favor. Besides, his experience had taught 
him that nothing is impossible to a firm will; 
he therefore determined to go to the engrav- 
ers’ room during the hour allotted for the re- 
past, and to practise there secretly. A young 
apprentice in thi« department, whom he had 
taken into his confidence, taught him the me- 
18 


206 


THE APPRENTICE. 


chanical part of the business, and after a short 
time Frederic was able to engrave a simple 
design tolerably well. * 

He thus continued, for several months, to 
go regularly to the work-room, while no one 
suspected how he employed his leisure hours. 
His fellow- work men were so unused to have 
him as a companion in their games, that 
none of them thought of asking the reason of 
his absence, and it is very probable that Fred- 
eric would have attained his object without 
attracting any one’s attention, had not an 
event, which took place towards the middle 
of the winter of 18 — , changed his plans and 
given a new direction to his life. 

One day when he had, as usual, just mount- 
ed to his work-room, after dinner, and had 
already begun to work, he heard a footstep 
which made him tremble. As he was there 
without leave, the fear of surprise was always 
before his mind. He hid himself quickly 
behind a piece of furniture, which had served 
him several times on similar occasions. This 
concealed from him entirely whatever took 
place in the room. Still, by the movements 


THE APPRENTICE. 


207 


that he heard, he concluded that several per- 
sons had entered. At first, he only thought 
of keeping so quiet that no one should dis- 
cover him ; but after a few minutes, the pre- 
cautions which were taken and the whispered 
words caused him much anxiety. 

“ Have you closed the door carefully ? ” 
asked some one. 

“ Look in the closet, and see if anybody is 
there,” said another voice. 

“ Why are they so afraid of being sur- 
prised,” thought Frederic, alarmed. He hard- 
ly dared to breathe. Something told him that 
it was not chance, but the will of Providence, 
which rendered him a witness of this scene. 
Never had he felt such uneasiness. 

When the new-comers thought themselves 
secure from surprise, one of them began to 
speak, and in a low but distinct voice, which 
showed the importance which he attached to 
his communications, he revealed the project 
which he had formed. 

This plan was nothing less than to force 
the windows of Mr. Kartmann^s counting- 
house in the middle of the night, and to 


208 


THE APPRENTICE. 


break open the safe. Frederic discovered, by 
the remarks which were made, that the lead- 
ers of this conspiracy were some of the work- 
men in the manufactory, and he could not 
refrain from shuddering ; but feeling how im- 
portant it was to him to learn all the details 
of the business, he remained more immovable 
than ever. 

The part which each was to take was then 
arranged. “ One of us,” said he who had 
first explained the plan, “must get into the 
counting-room, through the broken pane. Let 
us see which of us is the slightest. It must 
be Francis.” 

At this name Frederic felt a thrill pass 
through his frame. But when he heard his 
brother’s voice, answering the instructions 
which were given him, he could not restrain 
a cry of horror and grief. 

There was a sudden silence among the 
workmen. 

“ Where does that voice come from ? ” 
asked one of them. 

“ From this very room.” 

“ There must be somebody here.” 


THE APPRENTICE. 


209 


The search was not a long one, and Fred- 
eric soon found himself face to face with the 
conspirators. They asked him what had in- 
duced him to hide himself. He briefly ex- 
plained. 

Have you heard all that we have said ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Frederic. 

A question then arose among the workmen 
as to what should be done with him. They 
uttered imprecations and threats against him ; 
and even went so far as to say, that the best 
thing to do was to make way with ‘him ; but 
this proposition, which was intended to fright- 
en Frederic, made him, if not calm, at least 
resolved. 

At length it was agreed upon that he must 
be shut up, to make sure of his silence, until 
the next day. One of the workmen proposed 
an attic which he occupied in the factory. 
He said that it was situated in a part of the 
house which was not exposed to observation, 
and had only one window, which opened upon 
a small yard where no one ever went. This 
proposition was accepted. They ascended a 
deserted staircase, crossed a long and narrow 
18 * 


210 


THE APPRENTICE. 


corridor, pushed Frederic into the room, and 
double-locked the door. 

Nothing can convey an idea of his grief, 
when, left to himself, he had made a strict ex- 
amination of his prison, and saw that there 
was no means of escape from it. He threw 
himself into a chair, where he remained for 
a long time, overwhelmed with despair ; then, 
rising, he began to traverse the chamber in 
a fit of desperation. Thoughts succeeded 
each other rapidly in his mind. He would 
have sacrificed his life to be able to warn 
Mr. Kartmann of the danger which threat- 
ened him, and to turn Francis from the crime 
which he was about to commit. He saw his 
benefactor and his brother upon the brink of 
destruction, without the power to warn or 
save them. 

Several hours passed thus, in alternations of 
despondency and desperation. At last, he 
was seized with a sort of fever of anxiety. 
Spite of the piercing cold of winter, he felt 
his brow burning. He opened the window 
and leaned his elbows upon the sill, hoping 
that the air would soothe him. He remained 


THE APPRENTICE. 


211 


for some time in this position, looking absently 
at the clouds which were floating in the sky, 
and unconsciously following them with his 
eyes. After wandering over the surrounding 
objects, his eyes finally fell upon the funnel of 
a chimney of one of the wings to the house. 
For some time he watched carelessly the 
clouds of smoke which rose from it ; but, sud- 
denly, the boy started ; he leaned forward and 
looked out anxiously. He could not be mis- 
taken, the smoke came from Mr. Kartmann’s 
office. He drew back quickly into the room 
which served as his prison, and, blessing the 
fortunate habit which he had formed of al- 
ways carrying with him materials for writing, 
he began a note, in which he briefly warned 
iVIr. Kartmann of what he had discovered, 
and told him the place where he was con- 
fined. 

The note written, he again approached the 
window. The house, like all which are used 
for such purposes, was very high. Frederic 
calculated the height for a moment, but his 
resolution was not shaken by this examina- 
tion. He had often, in his boyish sports. 


212 


THE APPRENTICE. 


climbed trees and scrambled over roofs; he 
was agile and bold ; and it was necessary to 
run every risk. He climbed up to the win- 
dow-sill, descended carefully to the gutter, 
formed by the roofs of the two wings of the 
building, which met there, and followed, with- 
out much danger, this path, until he reached 
the chimney which he desired to attain. The 
most difficult part of the operation was to 
scramble up a slippery and very sloping roof. 
Nevertheless, the apprentice succeeded in do- 
ing it. Wishing at first to attract the attention 
of the persons who were working in Mr. Kart- 
mann’s office, he threw down the chimney, 
one by one, small pieces of mortar; then, 
when he thought it was time, he let fall his 
note, fastened between two tiles, to preserve 
it from the flames, and quickly returned to his 
room. 

He anticipated immediate deliverance, but 
hours passed and no one appeared. All the 
clocks in - the city had struck five. He re- 
mained constantly close to the door, with his 
ear at the keyhole, but still no step was heard 
in the corridor. He began to grow uneasy. 


THE APPRENTICE. 


213 


What could be the meaning of this delay? 
Had not his note been read ? All the distress 
which he had suffered before again returned 
to him. At length, when night had set in, he 
thought he heard the sound of a light and 
cautious step; the key turned softly in the 
lock. It was a terrible moment to the boy, 
for this might be the workmen, instead of a 
messenger from Mr. Kartmann. The key was 
withdrawn without opening the door, and a 
second ineffectual attempt was made with a 
new key. Probably they were trying pass- 
keys. Frederic felt reassured at this thought. 
Finally, after several attempts, the door turned 
softly upon its hinges, and the boy recognized 
the voice of Mr. Kartmann, calling him. 

“ Come,’’ said he, seizing him by the hand, 
“and be silent. No one must suspect your 
deliverance.” 

Then, leading him through some dark pas- 
sages, he conducted him to his own room. 


214 


THE APPRENTICE. 


CHAPTER V. 

While Mr. Kartmann was gone to assure 
himself that all precautions had been taken, 
Frederic remained alone in the room. He 
would have liked to see his brother, but under 
what pretext could he go out? Where should 
he find him ? For a moment he thought of 
confessing all to his master ; but perhaps Fran- 
cis had changed his resolution, and would not 
take a part in the crime. In that ca^e, Fred- 
eric’s confession would have disgraced Fran- 
cis, to no purpose. The poor child determined 
to await the event, trusting to the goodness 
of God. 

Mr. Kartmann at length returned. Every- 
thing was arranged to prevent the robbery. 
The clerks and some of the overseers had been 
placed in concealment in different parts of the 
yard upon which the windows of the count- 
ing-room opened, and they were sufficient in 
numbers to overpower the robbers easily. Mr. 


THE APPRENTICE. 


215 


Kartmann then led Frederic to his counting- 
room. The boy followed, without speaking, 
hoping that chance would give him an oppor- 
tunity of assisting Francis, if he should come. 

Nearly an hour passed without any sign of 
the arrival of the workmen, — an hour of terrible 
anxiety to Frederic, whom the slightest sound 
caused to start. The darkness and silence 
which reigned in the apartment made him feel 
the more the importance of the occasion, and 
filled him with alarm. It was more than the 
boy’s strength could bear. He had become 
quite exhausted by the trials of that terrible 
day, and his poor heart could endure no longer. 
He felt his strength failing him, when a neigh- 
boring clock struck, and a slight grating of iron 
showed that they were trying to force the shut- 
ters. Mr. Kartmann heard this noise, and ap- 
proached the window. Frederic sprang up 
suddenly, and then fell back, powerless, into 
his chair. 

This agony was prolonged for some time. 
The workmen, fearing to make a noise, shook 
the shutter but slightly, and it was only after 
a long trial that it was taken off. At the 


216 


THE APPRENTICE. 


same moment, the pieces of a broken pane 
fell upon the pavement, and Mr. Kartmann 
heard a whistle. The movements which fol- 
lowed showed that the order, given by the 
signal, had been obeyed. Soon cries were 
heard, and a gun was fired. At this sound, 
Mr. Kartmann hastily left the counting-room. 
Frederic, until that moment, had felt no power 
to move. The sound of some one, trying to 
enter through the broken window, aroused him. 
suddenly from his stupor, and Francis stood 
before him. 

“ Unhappy boy!” cried he, “what are you 
doing here ? ” 

“ Save me,” cried Francis, in despair. 
“ Frederic ! save me ! ” 

“ How can I? ” 

All at once a thought came into his head : 
he remembered that a door led from the count- 
ing-room into the garden ; he found it, by grop- 
ing in the darkness, drew Francis after him, 
and led him quickly towards a part of the wall 
of the enclosure which was not very high. 

“Run,” cried he, pointing out the way, 
“ and do not remain in Mulhausen ; your ac- 


THE APPRENTICE. 


217 


complices are arrested, and they will betray 
you.’’ 

Farewell ! ” cried Francis, from the top of 
the wall, and disappeared. 


19 


218 


THE APPRENTICE. 


CHAPTER VI. 

The day after this scene, all the accomplices, 
with the exception of Francis, were given up 
to justice, and Frederic, according to Mr. Kart- 
mann’s orders, presented himself at his office. 
The manufacturer made him sit down by 
him, and, after thanking him warmly, he told 
him to ask, without hesitation, for the reward 
which he had so well deserved. 

The boy hesitated for some time, but as 
Mr. Kartmann encouraged him, he answered, 
with a trembling voice, “ I have a great favor 
to ask of you, sir. Will you permit me to 
be present when your children receive their 
lessons ? ” > 

“Henceforth,” said Mr. Kartmann, “you 
shall share them all. I have, for a long time, 
remarked in you a praiseworthy desire for in- 
struction, and I am convinced that, with this 
feeling, you will succeed in attaining an hon- 
orable position in the world. From what you 


THE APPRENTICE. 


219 


told me yesterday, I judge that you would 
like to become an engraver. I hope that by 
your industry you will be able to do something 
better than that.” 

“ Be more than an engraver! ” thought Fred- 
eric. What pleasure these words gave to the 
poor boy ! Hitherto destitute, and having no 
other resources than his own industry, he had 
at length found protection. An object to 
which he might attain was pointed out to 
him, and the means of obtaining it were set 
before him. His heart, filled with a new 
emotion, would hardly allow him to utter his 
broken thanks. But he clasped his hands 
with such fervor, and fixed his eyes on Mr. 
Kartmann with so much feeling, that the lat- 
ter understood the gratitude which the gesture 
and the look conveyed. 

“ You are a brave boy, Frederic,” said he, 
pressing the youth’s hand, “and I am sure I 
shall never have cause to repent what I do for 
you to-day.” 

The day after this interview, Mr. Kartmann 
introduced Frederic to his two sons and their 
tutor. The service that he had just rendered 


220 V 


THE APPRENTICE, 


the family, and the proof of elevation of char- 
acter which he had given in the very choice of 
his reward, spoke so powerfully in his favor, 
that he was cordially received by both teach- 
ers and pupils. His noble ambition was 
warmly praised, and each one felt it a pleas- 
ure and an honor to assist the apprentice, and 
to contribute his share to his instruction. 

The habit which Frederic had formed of 
making his various studies tend to a certain 
definite object, and taking that as the starting- 
point for further progress, was as useful to 
him in his new studies as it had been in the 
former ones. This method of proceeding al- 
ways .by reasoning, had accustomed him to 
trace readily the consequences or the logical 
causes of things, and prepared him, especially, 
for the study of mathematics and of lan- 
guages. Thus he made rapid progress in 
these branches of knowledge, without neg- 
lecting, however, his other studies. History, 
geography, and drawing were not forgot- 
ten. Drawing, particularly, in its application 
so closely connected with mathematics, he 
paid careful attention to, and he was soon 


THE APPRENTICE. 


221 


skilful enough to copy the most complicated 
machines. 

After studying for three years, Frederic was 
as far advanced as Mr. Kartmann’s sons. He 
was already familiar with arithmetic and ge- 
ometry, and was studying physics. Without 
knowing critically all the resources of the 
French language, he yet wrote it correctly. 
His fellow-students, one two years younger 
than himself and the other four, were proud of 
his progress, and treated him rather as a com- 
panion than as a dependant. 

These affectionate relations were due, in 
part, to the kind disposition of these children ; 
but the conduct of Frederic also contributed 
greatly to maintain them. He was so mod- 
est in his success, so obliging without ser- 
vility, so nobly grateful, and at the same time 
so careful to avoid further obligation, that 
any one would have blushed to make him 
feel his indebtedness. 

When he was nineteen, Mr. Kartrnann gave 
him a situation among his overseers ; he was so 
correct and methodical, that, while he dressed 
much more neatly than his companions in the 
19 * 


222 


THE APPRENTICE. 


factory, it was not long before he had saved 
money, which he used for the purchase of 
books, mathematical instruments, and such 
things as he needed in his studies. It was a 
great satisfaction to him to be able to pay his 
own expenses, and thus lessen the charge 
which his master had taken upon himself. 

He had no longer any anxiety about the 
future : whatever might happen, he had now 
resources which could never fail him. So 
long as Providence favored him, and disease 
did not attack him, he feared nothing ; for all 
the means of success were in his power. 


THE APPRENTICE. 


223 


CHAPTER VII. 

It was one of those clear, warm evenings, 
so common at Mulhausen, at the hour when 
the workmen, leaving their factories, ascend 
the hills which border the canal, and sing their 
choruses, which re-echo thence throughout the 
whole valley. 

Frederic, with a sheet of drawing-paper on 
his knees, was copying a draught which he 
had made during the day. He too would 
have liked to sing and to walk. When the air 
was so sweet, he often felt a desire, after a 
long day’s work, to go out and breathe among 
the vines ; but, however innocent and allow- 
able this pleasure would have been, he had 
usually the courage to forego it. When the 
pleasant weather tempted him to go out, he 
took his books or his drawing and seated him- 
self on a little bench, placed near Odile Rid- 
ler’s door. He would thence catch a glimpse 
of the country, breathe a fresher air, and hear 


224 


THE APPRENTICE. 


the singing of a few birds ; and to him, accus- 
tomed to constant seclusion, even this was a 
satisfaction and a delight. 

On the evening of which we speak, Fred- 
eric was seated in his usual place. He was 
working diligently, for the daylight was fading, 
and he wished to finish his drawing before 
night came on. 

It was a sketch of one of the most compli- 
cated machines in Mr. Kartmann’s factory. 
The breathing of some person leaning over 
his shoulder drew Frederic’s attention sud- 
denly from his work. He raised his head, and 
saw a stranger, who« was carefully watching 
the progress of his drawing. 

“ In whose factory is that machine which 
your sketch represents ? ” he asked. 

“ In Mr. Kartmann’s,” replied Frederic. 

And how did you obtain it ? ” 

“ Mr. Kartmann allowed me -to share his 
sons’ lessons.” 

“ You must then have drawings of a great 
part of the machines of the establishment in 
your portfolio.” 

“ Nearly all, sir.” 


THE APPRENTICE. 


225 


“ I should like very much to see them.” 

Frederic civilly opened his portfolio, and 
showed his drawings to the stranger. 

After he had examined them very carefully, 
he said, “ I do not see among all these a 
sketch of the great machine which Mr. Kart- 
man received from England, nearly two 
months ago.” 

“We are going to copy it to-morrow, sir.” 

“ Tell me, my good fellow, can you give me 
a copy of these drawings?” 

“ I shall have but little time to myself; still, 
if you would like it, I will try to copy them.” 

“ I should like, particularly, to have the new 
machine of which I spoke. But as time is 
money, I will pay you for your labor. Here,” 
said he, offering Frederic three pieces of gold, 
“ take this as a first instalment, and we will 
afterwards agree about a higher price.” 

The sight of the money made Frederic start, 
and aroused his suspicions. Nobody would 
pay him so much for drawings which could 
be of no use to him. These sketches, no 
doubt, were to serve for the construction of 
machines, which might create a competition 


226 


THE APPRENTICE. 


fatal to his employer, and which might per- 
haps cause his ruin. 

The young man shuddered at the thought 
of his imprudence, and, hastily gathering up 
his scattered drawings, he threw them into his 
portfolio, which he carefully closed. 

His questioner looked at him with astonish- 
ment, and again offered him the three pieces 
of gold. 

“ I thank, you, sir,” replied Frederic, “ but 
I cannot make such a bargain. I consider 
that I should be disposing of property which 
does not belong to me, and I neither wish nor 
ought to do so. Address yourself directly to 
Mr. Kartmann; he can judge better than I 
whether granting your request would injure 
his interests.” 

The stranger saw that Frederic had divined 
his intentions. “ I understand,” said he, “ the 
motive of your refusal. You know that man- 
ufacturers conceal their machines from each 
other, and you fear lest your employer, on 
learning that you have given me these draw- 
ings, should send you away from his estab- 
lishment. But I could offer you such advan- 


THE APPRENTICE. 


227 


tages, that this dismissal would be the making 
of your fortune. I offer you, from this time, 
in my own establishment, a salary double that 
which you now receive ; and I will pay you, 
besides, whatever sum you may demand, 
when you give me the sketch which 1 desire.’^ 

Frederic would hear no more, but quickly 
seized his portfolio, and, casting a look at the 
stranger, in which shame and indignation 
were mingled, “ I neither know how to betray 
another, nor to sell myself, sir,” said he, in a 
voice trembling with emotion. And he has- 
tily returned to the house. 

Several days after this scene, Mr. Kartmann 
sent for Frederic to come to his office. 

“ Where are those drawings which you 
have made, with my sons ? ” asked Mr. Kart- 
mann. 

“ In my portfolio, sir.” 

“ Bring them to me.” 

Frederic went for his portfolio, which he 
brought, trembling, to his master, for there was 
something hasty and disturbed in Mr. Kart- 
manffis manner, which alarmed him. 

Mr. Kartmann turned over the drawings. 


228 


THE APPRENTICE. 


and the sight of each one drew from him a 
new exclamation. “ How imprudent I have 
been ! ” he exclaimed. “ There is enough here 
to ruin me.” 

When he had examined all the drawings, 
he turned to Frederic, and said : “ Somebody 
has offered to buy these drawings. I know 
it.” 

‘‘ Yes, sir.” 

“ And yet you said nothing about it to me.” 

“ I did not think it worth while.” 

“ What reward were you offered ? ” 

“ Whatever I chose to ask.” 

Did you refuse ? ” 

Yes, sir.” 

“ Without hesitation ? ” 

To hesitate would have been a crime.” 
Your hand, Frederic ! ” cried Mr. Kart- 
mann, offering his own to the young workman. 

You have a noble heart ; I know all the de- 
tails of this affair. I have acted imprudently, 
my friend, for any one less honorable than 
yourself might have ruined me. But I thank 
you for your honesty. You are now no longer 
a boy. From all the accounts which have been 


THE APPRENTICE. 


229 


given me by your teachers, and from what I 
have myself seen, you ought not to remain 
longer in the position of overseer. You shall 
henceforth live in my house; my table shall 
be yours, and you shall continue to share my 
sons’ lessons, and receive an appointment 
suitable to your new position.” 

The ne?:t day, Frederic bade adieu to the 
good dame Ridler, whom he could not leave 
without shedding tears ; for he could not for- 
get how kind she had been to him. More- 
over, he continued to show his gratitude for 
the care which she had bestowed upon him, 
and never failed to visit his old hostess every 
week, and carry with him some little present. 


230 


THE APPRENTICE. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Some years passed, without any great 
change in Frederic’s situation. His mind, 
which he continued to exercise, sometimes in 
the study of art, sometimes in more practical 
pursuits, had attained a remarkable develop- 
ment ; and our little factory boy, who twelve 
years before did not know a letter of the al- 
phabet, was now spoken of as one of the best- 
educated young men of his years. 

Mr. Kartmann congratulated himself, every 
day, that he had introduced him into his 
house. Never had the duties which he had 
undertaken been fulfilled with such integrity 
and devotion. Thus he was not looked upon 
as a mere clerk ; he was considered a friend 
of the family, the dearest companion of Mr. 
Kartmann’s sons, and their worthy rival. The 
events which we are about to relate still fur- 
ther strengthened this confidence and affec- 
tion, by showing how well they were deserved. 


THE APPRENTICE. 


231 


For several months Mr. Kartmann had ap- 
peared sad, and Frederic, through whose 
hands passed all the accounts of the concern, 
began to discover evidences of financial em- 
barrassment in his employer’s affairs. Very 
soon the disclosures which Mr. Kartmann let 
fall, the expressions of anxiety which escaped 
him, and the frequent demands of his cred- 
itors, still further enlightened Frederic, and 
convinced him that it was no mere temporary 
entanglement, but one of those commercial 
crises which sometimes overthrow the most 
substantial fortunes. It was not long before 
Mr. Kartmann himself removed his doubts. 

He returned home to dinner one day, more 
dejected than usual. When dinner was over, 
he asked his eldest son and Frederic to go 
with him to his study. 

In less than two months,” said Mr. Kart- 
mann, “ this establishment will no longer be 
mine. If I sell it now, I shall have enough 
left to pay all my debts ; but if I wait longer, 
it will be out of my power to pay them. The 
new machines of Mr. Zinberger have com- 
pletely ruined me ; his goods are handsomer 


232 


THE APPRENTICE. 


and cheaper than mine, and they are the only 
ones which will sell. For some time I have 
sustained this competition, however ruinous 
it might be to me, hoping that I might add 
these improvements to my own machines. 
All my attempts to effect this have been vain, 
and a longer competition is impossible. 

As soon as my accounts are made up, I 
shall advertise the sale of this manufactory. It 
is a terrible thing to me, after so many years 
of labor, to see all the hopes of comfort which 
I had cherished for my children disappear ; but 
in the midst of so many ruined plans, I feel 
less wretched, when I think that all my debts 
will be paid, and that only my family and my- 
self will have to suffer from this misfortune. 
As for you, Frederic,’’ added Mr. Kartmann, 
extending his hand to the young man ; “ you 
will not cease to be our friend. But you see 
it is necessary that we should part. I have no 
anxiety for your future prospects ; with your 
talents you will never want employment ; but 
this separation is another severe blow to me, 
as I have been accustomed to consider you as 
another son.” 


THE APPRENTICE. 


233 


I will only leave you, sir,’’ said Frederic, in 
a sad but firm voice, “ when I am convinced 
that I can be of no use to you. But I hope 
that day will be far distant. Let us make an 
examination, sir; perhaps the danger which 
threatens you may not be so imminent as you 
suppose. My youth renders me inexperienced 
in these affairs ; but, if I dared to offer you 
advice, I should urge you not to be too hasty 
in your decision. For him who looks long 
and attentively, the remedy often lies close 
beside the evil.” 

“ I fear that there is none for me,” replied 
Mr. Kartrnann, shaking his head, sorrowfully. 
“ You will be better able to judge of this 
business, when you have looked over my pri- 
vate accounts. They alone can show my 
position.” And he opened the books before 
them. 

Frederic ran them over hastily. It was 
clear that,this could not be a mere matter of 
mistake in figures. He saw the great cause 
of the evil, and had already thought of a way 
to remedy it. 

Eeturning to his room, after having taken 
20 * 


234 


THE APPRENTICE. 


leave of Mr. Kartmann, he threw himself quite 
bewildered into an arm-chair. ‘‘ In a fort- 
night,” he repeated to himself, “all the ac- 
counts of this house will be arranged, and the 
establishment will be for sale. A fortnight ! 
Good Heavens ! only a fortnight ! In so 
short a time, how shall I solve such a prob- 
lem, — to improve a machine so as to ren- 
der the manufacturing less expensive and the 
goods better! O my God! do not abandon 
me, for Thou alone knowest what I owe to 
this man, whom I must save ! ” 

As much from inclination as from the ne- 
cessity of his position, mechanics was, of all 
the positive sciences, the one to which Fred- 
eric had paid most attention. He had indeed 
a profound knowledge of this branch. But 
the task which he had taken upon himself did 
not require knowledge alone. He must find 
that which perhaps chance only had shown to 
another ; he must exhaust himself in calcula- 
tions, which might only bring him back to the 
point from which he started. But what did 
the young man care for these obstacles ? He 
wished to save his friend, and he labored 


THE APPRENTICE. 


235 


ardently to that end. He drove away all 
doubts, all fears, as evil thoughts. He felt 
strong, for he knew the power of the will 
against obstacles. 

Ten nights passed in continual labor, — 
nights of anguish and excitement, during 
which, time after time, the solution of the 
problem which he thought he was on the 
point of seizing, vanished from the sight of 
Frederic. Still, so many fruitless efforts, so 
many cruel deceptions, did not discourage 
him. Only four days now remained : but he 
would hope till the last moment, for he found 
strength in this noble confidence. 

At last — how shall I say it ? It is only evil 
sentiments which are barren. Generous ones 
always bear fruit, and gratitude gave genius 
to Frederic. He found the true method, in 
the search for which so many others had been 
disappointed. He himself hardly dared be- 
lieve in his discovery. He ran over, in a sort 
of frenzy, the lines traced before him. His 
calmness, his reason, which had never aban- 
doned him in the midst of so many fruitless 
researches, failed him in this moment of rap- 


236 


THE APPRENTICE. 


tore. He pressed the papers to his breast in 
transport. He sometimes thought that all his 
happiness was only an illusion, which the in- 
vestigation by another person would dispel. 
He could not rise from his chair, and dared 
not leave the room to ascertain if he were de- 
ceiving himself. 

Much of the night passed in this fearful 
doubt of himself. At length, when day 
dawned, determined to have his hopes either 
confirmed or dashed to the ground, he has- 
tened to Mr. Kartmann’s room. 

“ Will you look at these ? ” said he, going 
towards the bed, and offering him the papers. 
“ Look at this plan of a machine, and tell me 
if it is a dream or not.” 

He then sank, exhausted, into a chair, in 
an agony of expectation and hope. 

As Mr. Kartmann examined these papers, 
his face grew pale and his hands trembled. 
All his features showed that expression which 
indicates the change from great suffering to 
unexpected happiness. When he had exam- 
ined all the plans, he turned his swimming 
eyes towards Frederic, saying: “No! it is 


THE APPRENTICE. 


237 


not a dream! It is a work of genius, — 
and, better still, a work which saves my 
family from misery. This is a great lesson 
that you have given to the children of the 
people, Frederic; you have shown what a 
strong wiU aided by earnest endeavor can ac- 
complish.” 

And, uncovering his white head, in one of 
those sublime transports of enthusiasm which 
strong emotion will sometimes cause in the 
calmest men, he said : “ I salute you, child of 
the people. I bless you, and ask you to re- 
ceive me as your father, — you who have 
saved me like a son ! ” 


238 


THE APPRENTICE. 


CHAPTER IX. 

The house of Kartmann is now one of the 
most flourishing in Mulhausen. All its pros- 
perity is due to the discovery of Frederic, and 
to the constant care which he continues to 
devote to the establishment. His operations, 
up to this time, have always proved his skill 
and the stability of his judgment. Mr. Kart- 
mann, whose son-in-law he has become, has 
unlimited confidence in him. Only one cause 
of trouble has disturbed his happiness. From 
the time of his brother’s departure, he had 
sought in vain to learn his fate, till, at the 
time of his marriage, a notice in the news- 
papers gave him the first and last intelligence 
of that existence which he had seen severed 
from his own with so much pain. 

The paper said, that the Diligence from 
Frankfort to Paris had been attacked by a 
band of robbers. The travellers had defended 
themselves bravely, and several of the robbers 


THE APPRENTICE. 


239 


had been mortally wounded. Their names 
were given, and among themj that of Francis 
Kosmall. 

Frederic could not refrain from bitter tears 
at the recollection of the brother who had 
started with him in life, whom the same dy- 
ing mother’s hand had blessed, and who, by 
his crimes, had brought upon himself a fate 
so different from his own. 


THE END. 




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